A Pataki Christmas Carol
by Ajay435
Summary: By the Christmas of her sixteenth year, circumstances have left Helga bitter and cold. Can a visit from three familiar Christmas ghosts help Helga to see the error of her ways and change her future for the better? Rated T for mild language and character death.
1. As a Doornail

**A/N Hi – as a nineties-child, my interest in the announcement of Hey Arnold: The Jungle Movie inspired me to create this; my first ever fanfic, based on A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. Please enjoy and review.**

 **I don't own Hey Arnold and I REALLY don't own A Christmas Carol.**

* * *

 **A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 1 – As a Doornail**

Miriam Pataki was dead, to begin with. If ever Helga could be certain of anything, it was that. It had been Helga who found her, after all, lying crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. Her final, potent 'smoothie' had lain shattered around her – Helga remembered the vapours burning her nose.

Helga's psychologist, Dr Bliss, would note that the incident built large, fresh walls around the girl. Walls which even Dr Bliss seemed unable to breach, to her dismay; Helga had been doing so well… She no longer spoke about poetry, or a desire share her 'true self' with the world. And though Dr Bliss could never convince her to explain why, Helga one day stopped talking about Arnold. She simply knew things had ended badly. What little Helga revealed about her home life since the accident had been bleak. Her sister, Olga, had suffered a mental breakdown upon learning of her mother's death and addiction. Regardless of whatever recovery she had made since, Olga adamantly refused to return to Hillwood, and to the house where her mother had died. Her father 'Big Bob' Pataki, always a gruff and negligent man, had similarly suffered. The funeral had been the first and only time Helga had seen her father cry. Apparently, he now spent his days sitting silently in his armchair, sometimes flipping rapidly through albums filled with pictures of his wife. Family photos showed a Miriam with tired, bloodshot eyes, sagged shoulders and, perhaps, the ghost of a forced smile. This was in sharp contrast to the athletic and bright young woman shown excelling in older photographs from her youth. Bob had been in none of those pictures.

Helga once described how her father, having sat in sullen silence for a number of hours one day, shot to his feet without warning and stormed to the kitchen. There he tore the expensive glass blender from their wall and, with a scream of rage, smashed it on the ground. Afterwards, he sagged back into his chair, his face beet red as he buried it in his hands. Helga had swept up the glass later.

In the few years that passed, Helga was further consumed by the cruel and callous nature that she had once thought of only as a façade. From a distance, the girl seemed to emanate cold, disregarding the world around her with curt detachment. But when provoked, regardless of how accidentally or mildly, that ice was replaced by a terrifying fury. Now at the age of sixteen, Helga stalked menacingly through the hallways of Hillwood High School. The pink bow and pigtails were long gone, and Helga pulled back her long, blonde hair in a tight bun. She rarely, if ever, applied make-up, and her clothes were dark and practical – she cared little for what others thought of her appearance. Her slim figure, though, she had maintained; regular exercise saw to that, and she rarely cared to eat more than she needed. Students outside of the old P.S.118 tribe, who had never heard the legend of 'Helga the Bully', learned quickly to stay away. They called her far worse names now. Nobody would ever ask her to share a project, to sit together at lunch, to attend a dance. Helga relished the isolation; to her the rabble were a nuisance and a waste of energy. Loneliness was for people who lacked strength in themselves, and in solitude, no-one could ever hurt her. She was Helga G. Pataki, alone, and she would lash out venomously at anyone who stood in her way.

It was on the Christmas eve of her sixteenth year that Helga found herself sitting in the Hillwood Library, attempting to overcome the frustrating assignment looming over her for the new year; a long English Literature report analysing Shakespeare's portrayal of love in, ironically enough, Romeo and Juliet. Somewhere at the back of her mind, it might have occurred to Helga that, once upon a time, she could have filled pages on the subject as easily as breathing. Such was her understanding of love. But that was far from the forefront now, and she was not that little girl. She casually sipped the sugary energy drink in her hand.

"How's it coming Pheebs?"

She addressed the Japanese-American girl sitting slumped next to her. Phoebe Heyerdahl was, and feared she always would be, the quiet, put-upon follower where Helga was concerned. The two were no longer friends as such, Helga had no interest in friends, but by virtue of their longstanding connection, Phoebe often found herself the only student brave enough to sit next to her in class. It was this proximity, and nothing else, which led to their being assigned as each other's project partner.

Phoebe was exhausted.

"I feel that progress is less than optimal Helga." Phoebe sighed, weary but forever the linguist. "I realise that we're both in the honours class, but I feel that your skills are more acutely suited to this particular exercise than mine. The prose is just a little beyond me at times. Are you certain that you can't provide just a little more input?" Phoebe hoped against hope.

Helga scowled. While her unibrow was long-gone, the expression still radiated menace.

"Crimeny Phoebe, I realise that I usually have to do _everything_ around here but how about you pick up the slack for once? I mean seriously, what do I know about _love_? Who has time for that crap!?" Helga turned briefly to roll her eyes at the inevitable shushing librarian that followed her outburst. "Now how about you quit complaining and knuckle down so we can both get out of here?"

"Knuckling…" Phoebe sagged back over their books.

Before she could resume, Phoebe was shocked out of her slump by a pair of large hands gently grasping her shoulders, pulling her into an embrace. A low, soothing voice followed.

"Don't hurt yourself Babe, I'd hate for you to be passed out from fatigue all Christmas."

Phoebe sighed and relaxed against the chest of the young man now holding her.

" _Arigatō_ Gerald. I'm so tired…"

" _Iiyo_ babe." Gerald chuckled, his accent was poor, but he enjoyed trying to share his girlfriend's language. He then turned to Helga, who had crossed her arms and now glared disdainfully away from the couple. "And Merry Christmas to you Pataki! Having your fill of holiday cheer?"

Helga sneered. "Yeah, yeah – what do you need, Geraldo? We're in the middle of something here." She gestured to the books and sheets of paper, piled mostly around Phoebe's side of the table.

"Doesn't look like much of a _we_." Gerald raised an eyebrow at the imbalanced workload. "And it's past 9pm on Christmas Eve. I'm walking my girl home while she can still walk. How about you head home too – see if Santa brings you an attitude adjustment for Christmas instead of the usual coal?"

Helga let out a low growl; her relationship with Gerald had always been fairly antagonistic, and had only worsened in recent years. "Like I care about Christmas! It's just yet another _stupid_ day out of the _stupid_ year where everyone's supposed to bend over backwards to please people they don't ACTUALLY give a crap about. _Please_. It's all about gifts and greed, and If I'm gonna spend a hundred bucks it'll be on me, myself and I."

"But you used to LOVE Christmas, Helga!" pleaded Phoebe. "You know there's more to it than that; it's about spending time with the people you care about. It's about people being happy together!"

"I used to LOVE actually getting thrown a bone for once in the year – Christmas never gave me a damn thing that I didn't grow out of. If you morons want to waste a day holding hands and singing 'Frosty the Snowman' like a bunch of saps then be my guest; I'll be at home actually doing something useful with my time. Maybe this report since apparently _Phoebe_ can't pull her weight!"

Cursing under his breath, Gerald helped Phoebe store the multitude of papers in her bag.

"You attitude stinks Pataki. Always has, always will. _Mmm_ mmm mmm – I don't know how my girl stands to be around you. You ready babe?" The question was addressed to Phoebe who, now bundled up in a thick coat and scarf, nodded her readiness to leave. "Cool, let's go. Happy holidays Pataki." Walking away, Gerald threw Helga a crude gesture, Phoebe following with a quick goodbye.

Helga was left seething. Not because of his comments of course – no-one could hurt Helga G. Pataki. She just hated how goofy everyone got for this Christmas junk every year. Hearing a hushed conversation, Helga turned to the departing couple.

"Aw c'mon babe, _why_..?" was all she picked up from Gerald, who groaned and face-palmed as Phoebe quickly returned to the table.

Phoebe fidgeted with her hands, looking apprehensive. "Helga, if you really don't have anything to do tomorrow then… Rhonda is throwing an evening party for everyone at her house, after we've all had our Christmas dinners. Would you… like to come?" Her voice trailed away at the half-lidded, deadpan expression now on Helga's face.

"Thanks, Pheebs, but no, I won't be putting myself through the joy of a night with the princess and the rest of those knuckleheads." Helga's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Now scram before Geraldo over there wets himself at the thought of a whole evening in my presence." Phoebe nodded sadly, and turned to rejoin her boyfriend.

Helga called after her. "And Pheebs, since you couldn't make this report happen tonight, and since I'm sure you have _far_ more important things to do tomorrow, I want to see you bright and early at my place the day after. Nine sharp – do _not_ let me down! Oh, shut up!" The last comment was directed at the once-again shushing librarian, who was now shooting Helga a glare that could possibly rival her own. Possibly.

Phoebe seemed to deflate further on hearing Helga's final demand, but gave another sad nod before leaving with Gerald. Helga watched their renewed conversation with some amusement, seeing Gerald's face light up (presumably upon being assured of Helga's absence at the party) then promptly fall into a fresh scowl (presumably hearing about Phoebe's new post-Christmas commitment). ' _What a maroon_ ', she thought to herself.

Compared to the others, Helga was in no rush to head to her own home. The library was warm and comfortable, though she sensed she would get no more work done that night. But before long, the call went out that the library was closing, and Helga was forced to don her own thick coat, grab her book and depart. As she stepped out into the cold air, and set out for home, Helga let out a low groan; snow had begun to fall. In Helga's mind, she knew that a white Christmas in Hillwood simply meant that the children of the neighbourhood would be scurrying about, throwing snowballs and getting in her way. ' _My asinine classmates will probably join them_ ' she thought to herself, bitterly. And then the snow would melt into disgusting slush that she would have to wade through wherever she went. Just perfect. Helga was lost in this grim train of thought as she rounded the next corner, causing her to harshly collide with the person on the other side. As she fell, she heard the heavy thud of another body hitting the ground, followed by several smaller, unidentified thumps. She did not even have to look to know who she had hit.

"Arnold…" Helga quickly rose and brushed down her coat.

The football-headed young man now sitting up on the ground sighed, and began to collect the bright packages that lay scattered around him. Helga offered no help.

"Hi Helga," he finally stood, boxes bundled awkwardly under each of his arms, "nice night, huh?"

Helga rolled her eyes. She had been colliding with Arnold for as long as she could remember. When she was nine it was embarrassing, when they became 'them' it was cute, when they stopped being 'them' it became torture. And now it was just a nuisance. It happened almost daily; she barely even reacted anymore. ' _What a splendidly crappy joke from the universe_ ' she thought acidly.

"Yeah, Football Head, I just adore freezing my ass off." Curiosity got the better of her desire to cut short the conversation. "You look like you're about to creep down someone's chimney with all that loot; what gives?"

Arnold gave a small grin. "My new seasonal tradition; I'm taking a bunch of old toys and stuff to the children's hospital. It's not much, but the other guys contributed too. This is my last load – let's hope next year I've got my driver's license huh? It'd be way easier in the Packard."

It was true, Helga could see he looked tired. Arnold had, to everyone's amusement, grown rapidly during middle school. He now stood almost half a head taller than the already-willowy Helga. ' _I loved that about him once_ ' whispered the tiniest of voices at the back of her mind. She also noted his continued dedication to plaid, which always seemed to appear somewhere in his ensemble. Today, his blue winter trousers and grey jacket were accompanied by a thick, woollen plaid scarf, now dusted white with snow.

Helga shook her head, "God, you're such a cliché, Arnoldo." She clasped her hands and batted her eyelashes with a sardonic grin. "Sweet Saint Football Head, doer of good deeds, friend to all, escorter of old ladies across the street, and now Christmas Angel to the poor little children!" She mentally chastised herself for using the term 'Christmas Angel' – what an idiot she had been. "Don't you get tired of being so sickeningly goody-goody?"

Arnold's grin was gone; he could sense the way this conversation would turn.

"First of all, Helga, I helped Mrs. Vitello across the street that _one_ time. She's eighty-eight years old and it was icy! And secondly, if you tried it you might realise that it feels _good_ to do nice things for people besides m…" Arnold caught himself there, he didn't want to bring this up again. He coughed slightly. "…Anyway, you have anything you want to donate? Lots of the girls there love pink." He raised his eyebrows and resumed his small, hopeful grin.

Helga's trademark scowl appeared in record time. "Yeah right, like I'm gonna give away my hard-earned stuff to a bunch of sick kids. Half of them probably won't even be around to use it by New Year!"

Arnold recoiled in shock, "Helga that's terrible! How can you be so callous?! Tell me you don't really mean that."

"Whatever. Have fun playing elf, Football Head." Helga waved her hand dismissively and started to push past Arnold. She was unsure how he managed it, given his armfuls of gifts, but somehow he gently caught her arm.

"Helga, I know you and your dad are alone on Christmas. Maybe that's why you'd say something so thoughtless?" Helga growled and avoided his gaze. "We always have room for guests at the boarding house. You could join us for dinner? My grandma asks about you all the time."

Helga swiftly yanked her arm from his grip, "Fat chance – I want nothing to do with this idiotic holiday. And _don't_ touch me." She quickly resumed walking away, not looking back at first, until she heard Arnold sigh.

"Merry Christm…" he began.

Helga wheeled around and pointed a finger. Her eyes could have melted the snow around him.

"DON'T. EVEN."

Her last sight was of Arnold's wide eyes, his throat giving an audible gulp, before she swiftly turned back and resumed her walk home.


	2. Miriam's Ghost - Part 1

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 2 – Miriam's Ghost (Part 1)**

Helga knew, as she approached her house, that it was some time after 10pm. ' _Stupid Football Head keeping me out in this freezing weather. If I die of pneumonia I'll_ kill _him_ '. Beyond that, she knew there would be no problem. Sixteen, fourteen, twelve, it didn't matter – the days of Big Bob caring about setting her a curfew were long gone, and the more time she was out of there the better. Reaching the entrance, Helga turned to her pocket, rooting around for her keys, until a low shift in the light at the corner of her eye drew her attention back to the door.

Few people in the neighbourhood cared about having a door knocker, but Bob had once been one of them. Another status symbol, like his obnoxious, camo Hummer. Helga always thought the wrought metal lion's head, fairly small but thick and heavy, was ostentatious and pointless; it clashed ridiculously with the mostly-glass door, and everyone used the doorbell regardless. The edifice, once gleaming black, was now rusted and uglier than ever. But this is not what Helga saw. In the place of the knocker, surrounded by a pale, ethereal light, was the ghostly-white face of Miriam Pataki.

Helga was very, very rarely stunned to silence, but who could be blamed at a time such as this. Blinking her eyes rapidly, the face remained, eyes closed behind lopsided, square-rimmed glasses and straight, light-blonde hair waving gently, as if suspended in water. "Mo… _Miriam_?" Helga whispered, as she slowly extended a trembling hand, her own face now merely inches from the bizarre vision in front of her. At that moment, the previously closed eyes of Miriam Pataki shot open – Helga barely had time to release a small shriek as she reflexively propelled herself from the door, landing painfully at the edge of her stoop. Looking back, Helga rubbed her eyes; only the rusted, grinning lion remained.

Helga's mind raced as she shakily rose to her feet. ' _That didn't happen. That wasn't real. It's late, I'm hungry and I probably knocked my head when jolly old Saint Arnoldo whammed into me before. Take a dee-eep breath Helga ol' girl…_ ' Helga found her keys, mentally swearing to herself that this event never happened and would never be mentioned again, internally or otherwise. Especially not to Dr Bliss – she would have a field day. Opening the door, semi-consciously avoiding the taunting gaze of the lion knocker, she was greeted by the usual sight of her home. A dark, dusty corridor, now starting to smell vaguely of damp. A dim light and low sounds emanated from the trophy room down the hall. Removing her boots and coat, Helga resolved to perform her nightly rounds. She left the lights off, preferring the peace and stillness of the darkness. The trophy room was a poorly maintained museum. Each of its relics, once polished to a proud and gleaming shine, was now a dusty reminder of a girl who was no longer there. And in its centre, Big Bob Pataki dozed in his chair. By the empty bowl on the table next to him, and the fresh stains on his already-marked vest, Helga could tell that he had, at some point, succeeded in making himself a bowl of soup. She regarded Bob with disinterest, he wasn't so big anymore. With Bob barely able to function, and with an absentee Olga, the reigns of the formerly-beeper-now-cell phone 'empire' had been passed to an eager partner in the business. The small income Bob still received as a semi-retired partner paid for the house, and for the meagre amount of food that himself and Helga deigned to eat. Beyond that, they barely drove, they never travelled, they never ate out or took in shows (Helga's thoughts briefly turned to distant memories of steakhouses and terrible, singing, dancing Rats, but those thoughts were quickly dismissed). What little was left once the few bills were paid, plus whatever Helga earned here and there, she tidied away into a college fund. Bob had no need of it, and Bob no longer cared. Switching off the TV from whatever dull gameshow was playing, Helga moved on to the kitchen. Helga did her best to keep it clean, she lived here after all, and the only mess visible was the small pot and empty can from her father's soup. Placing these in the sink, for now, and taking a clean bowl, Helga prepared a small bowl of sugary cereal and ascended to her own room.

On the surface, Helga's bedroom had changed little, though her shelves were now filled with academic literature. Her old books of romance, fantasy and poetry had long-since been discarded. She had stopped writing in journals some time ago, once their contents started to depress her. Entering her closet to find pyjamas, Helga's eyes wandered to the trapdoor above, and she knew that THAT was where the biggest change to her room lay. The secret space, once filled with pink notebooks, colourful lights and always, always an elaborate, football-shaped shrine, was now empty. Vacant. Helga thought this was entirely appropriate, and preferred not to dwell on whether her refusal to use the space for another purpose was a deliberate statement to this end. She had no more room in her life for silly fantasies or girlish prose. Changing into her nightwear, Helga lay in her bed, eating her meagre dinner and idly attempting to think about Romeo and Juliet for her report without remembering a particular grade school play.

Shortly afterwards, and just as Helga's consciousness began to fade, she was startled awake by her cell phone's sudden buzz. She glared, blearily, at the screen – an unknown caller. Never one to be nervous or shy about such things, she answered.

"What?" she offered in a low growl

There was no response. No greeting, no static, no sound. Cursing about scam callers, Helga put down the phone. Almost instantly, however, the phone buzzed again, somehow seeming even louder in her now-awake state. Before she could react, the noise was joined by the ringing of the house phone, the doorbell, and what Helga quickly surmised were the dozen or more sample cell phones stored in her father's bedroom. ' _But those phones don't have batteries…_ ' she was able to coherently think, before the awful cacophony came to an instant, simultaneous halt. Never before had Helga understood how a silence could be deafening. No shouts or motion downstairs. ' _How did Bob not hear that? How did the people across the_ street _not hear that_?' It was as Helga finished asking herself these questions that, finally, the silence was broken once more. From below, Helga began to hear soft footfalls, distant at first but quickly, she realised to her discomfort, coming closer as they touched upon the stairs. ' _That isn't Bob!_ ' Helga fretted to herself, ' _Bob still stomps when he actually bothers to move! Well nobody robs Helga G. Pataki!_ ' Having been paralysed by the bizarre ringing experienced moments ago, Helga was grateful to find herself able to quietly jump from her bed and, on instinct, grab the wooden baseball bat from underneath it – a long untouched remnant of times at Gerald Field. The footsteps were close now, very close. She knew that the intruder, whoever they may be, had reached the landing and was unhesitatingly approaching her door.

Bracing herself, bat raised, Helga was an instant away from throwing open the door and descending on the interloper with the fury for which she was famed, when her hand was stayed by two, almost simultaneous events. Firstly, her nose wrinkled as she detected a strong, burning odour; an unwelcome and (she would soon realise) familiar blend of strong spirits and sweet fruit. The second was the sudden appearance of a pale, softly-glowing hand phasing through the door's wooden panels. Repeating her earlier backward leap threefold, Helga sprang away, wide eyed, to the foot of her bed as more of the spectral figure entered her bedroom. She recognised the entity immediately.

"MIRIAM?!" she cried, before unleashing (for the first time in many years) a high, panicked, deafening shriek, loud enough to dwarf the earlier ringing.

Several miles away, Arnold stepped out of the hospital, tilted his head and turned to the smoking, off-duty EMT beside him.

"Hey, did you hear something just now?"

"Nah." The EMT shrugged and returned to his cigarette.

Arnold shivered, and started his journey home.


	3. Miriam's Ghost - Part 2

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 2 – Miriam's Ghost (Part 2)**

Her face was unchanged. Unchanged from when Helga knew her in life, and unchanged from when, minutes ago, Helga had seen her visage in place of the door knocker. Fighting to stay conscious, Helga slumped back onto her bed, speechlessly regarding the figure that now stood fully in her room. Miriam Pataki wore the same dress in which she had died, long and purple but now stained and smeared with the remnants of blended fruit. Her eyes, which Helga had always seen as being fogged and weary, now looked as though they had endured lifetimes of fatigue and exhaustion. To Helga's greater horror, she quickly realised that, despite all of this, the far wall could be seen through her mother's body, as though she were merely a vapour, or a shadow. Throughout all this, the small bedside lamp that half-heartedly illuminated the room flickered, as though reluctant to shed light on the unnatural presence before it, and each momentary glow accentuated the dim light that Miriam seemed to emanate.

"It's really me, Sweetie."

That voice snapped Helga out of her stunned trance. Never, in all her time with her mother, had Helga heard her speak with such clarity; her words were un-slurred and calm, yet they seemed utterly burdened with deep sadness. No, Helga had never heard Miriam speak like that, but it _was_ her mother's voice.

"…mom? NO! Nonononono! This. Isn't. Real." Acting on old reflex, Helga gave herself a swift, hard slap across the face. She was sure that she had experienced stranger and more vivid dreams than this. She turned back to Miriam with renewed shock as her hand rose to her now stinging cheek. The stinging, yes, _that_ was why she felt tears prickling behind her eyes for the first time in years. She was… awake? Miriam regarded the display sadly, then began to approach. Her movements seemed slow and determined, and her clothes and hair seemed to flow and billow around her. Again, it was as though she were walking determinedly through water. As she knelt before her daughter, Helga realised that the alcoholic odour now permeated the room. Had she been in a different frame of mind, she may have gagged. Her paralysis was renewed, as she watched her mother hesitantly bite her lip, then reach out a thin, spectral hand.

As the hand landed on Helga's cheek, Helga shivered. She did not feel a touch, _per se_ , more of a cool, tingling pressure. There was no warmth there – Miriam had none to give. All the same, Helga could not help but close her eyes, her mind suddenly filled with memories of tender contact with her mother. They were few, and far between, and _so_ long ago, she thought, but they were there all the same.

"Oh Sweetheart, you're so grown." The spectre of Miriam's eyes filled with tears. "I miss you so much…"

At this, Helga's own eyes bolted open, and she threw herself further back on the bed, severing the connection. She gave herself another less-than-reassuring pinch.

"This can't be happening. Miriam is dead and I'm apparently hallucinating." Helga briefly checked her memory to be certain she had not inadvertently eaten pork rinds again, something she swore off after the last incident. "Figures I'd be one of the people that finally snap…" She looked back to, what she now assumed, was a cruel and vivid trick of her mind. "Ok Ghost of Miriam, I'm going to close my eyes and lie back in my bed now. When I wake up _you_ will be gone, and _I_ will find the number of a decent neurologist. Buh-bye now."

With that, Helga threw the covers over herself and turned away. Miriam watched all of this with continued sadness, and hung her head. Sitting at the foot of her daughter's bed, she continued.

"I'm here Helga. This isn't a dream, you aren't imagining me. Why don't you believe what you can see, hear and…" She bit her lip again; what they had shared could not be called a true touch.

Helga turned back, in her bed, unable to disengage from the conversation.

"Because, newsflash, _ghosts aren't real_! Actually, I probably choked on the prize inside that box of cereal I ate, and now I'm having an oxygen-starved nightmare! Oh, and since you mention it, I can _smell_ you too. Do you know how long it took me to put that stink out of my mind? Nice dick-move, subconscious!"

At this last comment, Miriam flung her head into her hands, doubled over and released a gigantic, echoing wail of sheer pain. The flickering of the light doubled in force, and it seemed as though the very window of the room shook in its frame. Helga, horrified, shot to a seated position. Her hands flew to her ears, trying and failing to block out the inhuman sound.

"Alright, alright, you're real enough! Crimeny, just _stop_!"

At this, Miriam turned back to meet Helga's eyes, her own now running freely with tears. For a moment they were silent, save for Miriam's quiet sniffs.

"Why… why are you here Mom? HOW are you here?" Helga finally dared to apprehensively ask.

"I'm here to help you. To… save you from… this." She looked down sadly at herself. "I don't know how or why you can see me now. So few people get the chance… I think you must be very important." She finished, trying a small smile.

"Well obviously I _know_ I'm important, Miriam. I'm great." Replied Helga, her voice finally returning to her customary acid tone. "And I've got things pretty much handled here, so I really don't see what you could possibly think I need saving from."

"Sweetie, look at me," Miriam leaned slightly forward and slightly opened her arms. "I'm trapped. I shouldn't be here but I'm chained."

This notion made Helga recoil. "I don't see any chains, you look… fine? And why would you be trapped? Sure you weren't the Hillwood Times' person of the year, but you never killed anyone! Um… _did_ you..?"

Miriam sighed and shook her head. "There are other crimes Helga, and there are other kinds of chain. I was no mother to you. I ignored you, disregarded you over and over again. I spent half your life passed out drunk, and the other half in too much of a stupor to even make my little girl her lunch! For God's sake, _shaving cream_!" At this her face flew back into her hands, and Helga braced in fear of another harrowing wail. Fortunately all that came were quiet sobs, and after a moment Miriam continued.

"I threw my life away. I floated through it and took myself apart piece by piece. In the end, I hurt everyone that I was supposed to love. And not once, right up until I fell down those stairs, did I try to change. I could have looked for help, God knows if not for myself, then for you and your sister, even for your _father_ , I could have tried. I still had my own mind – he would have complained but he wouldn't have stopped me. But I chose to drown myself in a haze, and now it's too late."

Helga's eyes were undeniably tearful now. She had long-since stopped dwelling on her childhood and on her mother's behaviour, but as the memories raced back she could scarcely contain the old anguish. Some small part of her, a part Helga rarely gave any thought, wanted to comfort her mother. But she could hardly deny the truth to the woman's words. Miriam pressed on.

"I'm stuck here now. I watch you and your sister, desperately trying to be what I never was for you in life, but you're always ahead of me. It's like in a bad dream, or like walking through water; the harder I try to reach you the more I'm weighed down. And all around me is this godawful smell, just to remind me of why I'm still here. Why I'm even here in the first place…"

Helga held back a small sob at the idea of her mother desperately reaching out to her. She quickly tried to control herself, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

"G-geez, don't you have anything positive to say? It can't be all bad… Can it?"

Her mother shook her head, tears returning, but managed a sincere half-smile. "I'm so proud of you," she hoarsely whispered. "You've grown up so strong and smart. You're beautiful Sweetie. But you're going the wrong way. I know you're hurting – that _I_ caused so much of that hurt – but you're making chains of your own. The way you treat people, the way you lash out, push away, and try to hurt the world around you. I can _see_ them Helga, and it breaks my heart."

Helga gulped hard, looking down at herself as if expecting to see thick iron shackles. But all that she saw were pink pyjamas. She applied her usual, defensive approach.

"Well crimeny, it's hardly my fault if everyone around me is a half-brained loser! It's like you said, _I'm_ smart, _I'm_ strong and I'm perfectly happy by _myself_! I don't need the world to do me any favours and I'm sure as heck not going to waste my time for people that don't give a crap about me, let alone people I don't even know. I look out for number one, just like you and Bob taught me!"

Miriam gave another deep sigh, not meeting her daughter's eye. "I'm in my prison Helga, and your father has built his. I wish I could help him, but I can at least try to help you." At this, Miriam suddenly turned her head to the window, as if responding to a sudden call.

"And just how do you plan on helping me?"

Miriam quickly turned back, her eyes were wide and her voice was now filled with urgency. "By giving you the means to see yourself and make a new choice. A new chance. I've stayed as long as I can, longer than I should have. Listen Sweetie, you'll be visited again tonight. Not by me – this… can't happen again – but by three spirits who can do more for you than I ever could. Listen to them, Sweetie, and learn from them."

Helga was horrified. "Isn't _one_ haunting per lifetime enough? I told you, I'm fine. I-I don't want this…"

Miriam stood and started moving towards the closed window. "Expect the first ghost tomorrow, when the bell tolls one." She reached the window. "The second on the next night, at the same hour, and the third on the following night at the last stroke of twelve. I love you so much Helga, all of you." She began to phase through the window and out into the night. "Be safe."

Her mother's sudden departure shocked Helga from her trance, jumping out of bed she raced to the window.

"Miriam? MOM? Don't… go…"

Her eyes widened, and her voice faltered to nothing as she gazed out into the street. A horde of spirits, all glowing faintly as her mother had done, swarmed through the night. Some drifted through the air, others walked slowly down the road. Some strained with the burden of monstrous chains to which they were tightly bound. All radiated pain and misery. Her mother was lost among them.

Her appalled shriek never making it past her throat, Helga's world turned black as she finally flew into unconsciousness.


	4. Christmas Past - Part 1

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 3 – Christmas Past (Part 1)**

Had Helga awoken in her bed, she may have quite easily disregarded the night's strange happenings as a bizarre and cruel dream. But she did not. Instead, her eyes opened to find herself lying prone on the soft, cold carpet of her bedroom floor. She knew by the moisture still drying on her cheeks that, were she to see her reflection, those eyes would be red from tears. For a short while, Helga lay quietly, her mind replaying the earlier events over and over as if straining to find some suitable cause to dismiss the whole thing as fantasy. She had sleepwalked before, after all – never without the infamous pork rinds but still, perhaps. Helga clung to this notion as if it were a raft on the sea; perhaps it was the caffeine from the night's earlier energy drink, or the stress she was facing from school. ' _Maybe I'm unconscious on the sidewalk from hitting Arnold, and this whole thing is a hallucination. That kind of junk happens all the time on TV._ ' As these ideas and explanations floated through her reeling mind, it suddenly dawned on Helga that she was still lying directly below her bedroom window. An involuntary shudder coursed through her as her mind replayed what she had seen when she last looked through it. Surely such a horrific sight could never have been real. ' _But what does that say about my imagination?_ ' Determined to prove her sanity against this thought, Helga closed her eyes tightly, gritted her teeth, and slowly rose. Clambering blindly to the window, she steeled herself, breathing deeply, and slowly opened her eyes once more.

Nothing. No ghosts, or chains. No pained, spectral figures. The road and sky were clear, save for the thick snowflakes which continued to fall. Helga gazed out, scrutinising the street for the slightest sign of anything unusual. Any tiny indication that her earlier vision had truly occurred. No such clue came forward. The night, in fact, seemed utterly serene and still, the snow settling in a blanket wherever it fell. Even in the darkness, this white covering seemed to generate its own faint glow, quite different to the ghostly light Helga had witnessed earlier, somehow highlighting every surface and corner in stark detail. The serenity was finally broken as a large and snow-dusted cat prowled silently out of a nearby alley, its bright green eyes staring briefly in Helga's direction. As the creature darted away, leaving a faint trail of soft pawprints, Helga found herself oddly comforted. In the face of such a terrible experience, it pleased her to find that something, anything, was alive with her on this long night. For the first time in years, Helga did not want to be alone.

' _And there you have it,' Helga thought to herself. 'No spooks or spirits; I'm just going crazy. Nice, normal, perfectly rational crazy. Crazy I can handle, probably by laying off caffeine for a while._ '

Releasing a long breath, one that she had not entirely realised she was holding, Helga finally turned from the window and resolved to return to bed. She hoped that being awake so late would allow her to sleep through most of the next day – perhaps she could avoid this Christmas nonsense entirely. This thought spurred Helga to realise that, in fact, she had no idea how late it really was. How long had she lain on her floor, dead to the world? Settling under her covers, she reached for her phone to satisfy this curiosity. 12.55am. Helga's heart skipped a beat, Miriam's closing words seeming to reverberate in her mind; ' _Expect the first ghost tomorrow, when the bell tolls one_ '.

"Well there you go," Helga spoke aloud, hoping the sound of even her own voice would quell the uneasy feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. "Another five minutes, then I can put this whole freaky business behind me and finally get some shuteye. And besides, what bell Miriam? It's not like Big Barney's actually worked in years…" She trailed off, nervously chuckling at her own small joke. But try as she might, Helga could not tear her eyes away from the slowly moving clock.

'57, 58, 59.' As Helga counted down the minutes, the silent stillness of the room seemed to bear down on her. She would never admit, not even to herself, that as the final seconds ebbed away she was truly, deeply terrified. She held her breath, unable to tear her eyes away. Unable to even blink.

' _BONG!_ '

Helga barely even had time to register the sight of the clock turning to 1am when the silence was shattered by one epic, booming chime. Not for the first time that night, Helga shrieked, the shock of the sudden burst causing her to jolt out of her bed to land clumsily, tangled in bedsheets on the floor. The sound was not like the chaotic ringing that heralded Miriam's appearance, nor was it like the terrible howl that Miriam herself had expressed. It had seemed to resonate from within Helga's own mind.

"Crimeny, what the _hell_!?" Helga groaned, her limbs sore from the short fall. She suddenly became aware, even with her eyes closed, that a brilliant light now illuminated her room. Shielding her eyes from the glare, she turned to the find source. Though barely open, her eyes burned and watered as they tried to focus on the radiant presence mere feet away.

'Look upon me, child. Do not be afraid.' Again, the sound seemed to come from within Helga's own head. The voice was so soft. Male or female, Helga found herself unable to tell, and at the same time the voice seemed completely ageless. The only word that Helga could quickly find to describe it was 'pure'. Like clear, flowing water.

'Face me, and do not shy away. It will hurt, for a moment, for that is my nature, but it will become easier in time if you let it. That is my nature too.'

Feeling compelled, Helga forced her eyes open, her hands falling to her sides. For a second, maybe more, burning whiteness blinded her vision. ' _It's like staring into the sun!_ ' she cried to herself, her eyes now streaming with tears. And yet, so quickly the light began to fade. Helga blinked rapidly; as the bright spots cleared from her eyes, she found herself able to perceive a warmly glowing figure before her. At least, perhaps it was a figure. The being seemed to flicker and change, sometimes a formless, hovering glow, and sometimes appearing human, perhaps the size of a young child. Helga felt that, if she looked carefully, she could see an endless stream of faces flitting across the face of the entity, their features instantly familiar but too fleeting to identify. Around the spirit, surely it was a spirit, a long, pink ribbon drifted in a loose, flowing coil. The ribbon waved and rippled as if suspended on a breeze, but Helga could feel no wind.

Her vision finally clear, Helga found herself able to speak.

"Who are you?"

The spirit opened its arms, as if in welcome.

'I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.'

"Christmas… Past?" Helga cold only dumbly reply.

'Yes, Helga. Your past.'

"Huh. You look a little too bright to have much to do with _my_ past…" The bitter remark came almost involuntarily from Helga; by this point such comments were a reflex. Her thoughts, on the other hand, were far less calm. ' _Ohmygodisthisreallyhappening?!_ ' Swallowing her fear, her face forced into calm, she did her best to recover.

"Sooo, I suppose you're one of the, um… spirits, that Miriam wanted me to see. Well like I told her, I appreciate you stopping by and all but the only thing I need right now is a decent night's sleep. And since I'm a little old for a nightlight, I'd appreciate it if you just headed out. Moved along? Begone..?"

Her voice again trailed away, as the luminous being stepped slowly towards her, leaving them mere inches apart.

'Yours is a rare chance, Helga. A chance for guidance, and for help. Be grateful.'

Helga folded her arms, glancing away from the spirit.

"I don't _need_ any help."

"For your salvation then." Though the voice of the spirit was unchanged in volume or tone, the word 'salvation' seemed to linger heavily in her head. The word seemed laden with pity. Helga's mind turned back to her mother's sorry state, the pain and weariness that had radiated from her. She thought of the scores of tormented spirits she had seen travelling through the night, each of them in some way bound and mournful. Could that really happen to her? This idea, she realised, frightened her far more deeply than the spirit before her now, and she was led to a simple conclusion. ' _What have I got to lose?_ ' Hanging her head, she resigned herself.

"Fine. Let's get this little intervention over with."

She thought she could see the faces of the spirit give small, kind smiles as they passed by, as the Ghost of Christmas Past extended what was surely meant to be an arm, but appeared as nothing more than a soft ray of light.

'Take my hand.' Before Helga could respond to this, sarcastically or otherwise, her mouth fell open as the spirit's pink ribbon fluttered and danced its way down the extended beam, embracing the light as though it were entirely solid, weaving itself into a recognisable shape. Before her eyes, Helga saw formed a small, silken pink hand. The hand extended, reaching for her own, until Helga hesitantly accepted it. She was immediately struck by the intense warmth that radiated from the soft limb. The heat seemed to flicker and fluctuate, leading Helga to wonder whether it was capable of burning her with its touch. This was followed by the realisation that the spirit's grasp on her, though gentle, was as firm and strong as steel. Though the hand was as that of a child, she could instantly tell that her father's own huge fists, with their own sturdy grip, were never so powerful. It would take tremendous effort to pull away now.

'Walk with me.' As the spirit began to pull her, Helga was surprised to find that they were walking not towards the door, but instead to the window.

"Wait, are you expecting me to jump down or something? I mean if Bob's slept through everything so far tonight then we could probably just use the door. Plus, I'm in my _pyjamas_! No-one said anything about taking a stroll…"

Despite her protests, the spirit was undeterred. Turning to her it spoke, its flickering smile still present.

'You travel with me, through gateways only I may open and to destinations only you may provide. Bear my touch as we walk, and you shall not fall.'

Focussed as she was on these words, Helga did not immediately notice the new beam of light that shone forth from the spirit, as harsh and bright as when the ghost first appeared. The ray fell upon the wall like a strange projection, obscuring the window and fixtures. As they stepped ever forward, Helga was once again forced to shield her eyes, as the brightness surrounded them, enveloping them both.


	5. Christmas Past - Part 2

**A/N Just a brief note to say hooray for The Jungle Movie! My inner-child feels closure! That being said, this seems a good time to specify that this story occurs in a post-FTi but non-TJM universe. Huge thanks to everyone who's reviewed and / or followed this story so far - sorry for the delay, and hope you keep enjoying!**

* * *

 **A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 3 – Christmas Past (Part 2)**

Helga had half expected to collide painfully with the bedroom wall. Instead, as her vision cleared, she found herself standing in a vibrantly colourful room. Every wall was liberally decorated with letters, numbers and musical notes, and one particular corner had been proudly papered with a collection of cheery finger paintings. The air seemed to carry aromas of paint and playdough, and the floor was lined with an array of small, plastic desks and chairs. This had the effect of making Helga feel uncomfortably large and out-of-place. At the front of the room stood a large chalkboard emblazoned with the words 'HAPPY HOLIDAYS' in large, multicoloured lettering, along with doodles of stars and snowflakes.

The room was alive with activity as small bodies dashed back and forth. Some laughed, squealed and chased, while others sat playing contentedly with a range of small toys. A few stood quietly together, embroiled in some of the deeply-serious discussions that can only occur between little children.

"Urban Tots? This is my preschool…" Helga attention was suddenly drawn to the actions of a particularly tiny boy, already sporting thick glasses and bowl cut black hair, who was bouncing with determination towards the classroom window on a large zebra-shaped space hopper.

"FREE THE AMINALS!" With a final leap and an all-too-familiar cackle, the boy soared towards the window, only to rebound off the glass. He landed with a soft thud on the carpeted floor, glasses askew.

"Oh crap, this is MY preschool!" Helga's jaw dropped as she watched the little boy, unmistakably Thaddeus "Curly" Gammelthorpe, blush crimson red when a miniature Rhonda Wellington Lloyd giggled at his antics. As the teacher descended to deliver a stern (and ultimately fruitless) reprimand for his actions, Helga turned to face the spirit still standing by her side.

"How can we be here?"

'This place and these children are shadows of the past, though that makes them no less real. Do not worry; they can neither perceive nor feel our presence. You were quick to recognise your surroundings.'

Helga gave a small nod. "I don't remember much _before_ I started coming here. Sure, there are bits and pieces, but mostly it was all the same; the Pataki Show, starring Olga. Even back then I couldn't catch a break, I guess. Not until I got here and met…" At this moment her eyes landed upon the person she had not even realised they were searching for. A football-shaped head and cornflower hair, shorter and softer-looking than in more recent memory, topped with a blue cap that even then was several sizes too small. Arnold sat with an equally young Gerald (who Helga suspected would not cut his hair for years to come), chuckling as they practiced their now-iconic handshake.

'A small thing, an umbrella. Truly such comfort to a little girl who was already where she needed to be, already soaking and cold from the rain?' The spirit interjected, as if reading her mind.

Helga shook her head absently. "He… _noticed_ me…"

Unbidden, Helga walked as if in a trance to where the two sat playing, her mind swimming with memories of a smiling little boy comforting a sad, muddy little girl. ' _I like your bow,_ ' the words echoed through her head, ' _'Cause it's pink like your pants._ '

'Ah, a rare, true smile. And could it be a tear that I see on your cheek?' The spirit's words brought Helga back to reality, somewhat, though she still kept her eyes on the young, laughing Arnold. She realised quickly that the spirit was right on both counts; her mouth had, all on its own, formed a soft smile unlike any of the sneers or sarcastic grins it had hosted in recent years, and she felt the tickle of a single tear travelling down her cheek.

"Y-yeah, well, I guess even back then Football Head was ugly enough to bring a tear to my eye." Helga did not even bother trying to laugh at her own misplaced joke. As she moved to wipe away the tear, she finally came to realise that the spirit no longer held her hand. Instead, she found her palm was gently wrapped by a single coil of the ribbon, though it exuded just the same warmth.

"Outta my way losers, I'm walkin' here!" At this latest shrill yet powerful voice, Helga finally turned away. She knew already what she would see. A small girl had stormed into the room, pushing aside anyone in her path as she stomped towards her desired toys. Her blonde hair was pulled into pigtails which seemed to defy gravity, sticking straight out at either side of her head, and her pink dungarees were matched by the large, pink bow that sat atop her head. As she looked upon her own scowling, younger face, Helga was reminded of how her unibrow had enhanced her menacing glares. The older Helga scowled at herself – she always thought she had been an ugly little child. She was then surprised, and more than a little unnerved, as she saw Arnold dash quite literally through her legs in the direction of her younger self.

Three-year-old Helga had been scrutinising the available toys when she heard a small cough behind her. As she turned, Arnold smiled at her nervously with his hands behind his back. Though the little girl resumed her glare, the older Helga could guess that her heart was pounding.

"What do _you_ want, geek bait?"

The boy's smile faded slightly.

"H-hi Helga, I, uh…" He looked away, shyly.

"Spit it out, or you can talk to Ol' Betsy and the Five Avengers!" Older Helga felt a pang of embarrassment as her younger self shook her fists threateningly at the poor boy. She declined to name her fists anymore; she just threw them at people who asked for it.

Now gulping in fear, Arnold closed his eyes and quickly brought his hands from behind his back. They held a small, folded piece of paper.

" _ImadeyouaChristmascard!_ " He squeaked.

The adult Helga saw her young counterpart perform several quick blinks, momentarily stunned, but she knew how this would turn out.

"W-why would I want a card from _you_ , Football Head? LEAVE ME ALONE!" The younger Helga snatched the card and cruelly crumpled it into a ball in front of Arnold's eyes, before turning to run in the direction of an extremely small Phoebe. The boy let out a tiny sigh before returning to his own best friend.

"I remember this now." The grown Helga spoke partially to the spirit and partially to herself. "It was the last day before Christmas break. I tried to come back for the card later, after everyone had left, but it had been thrown away." Her eyes were fixed on the crumpled ball of paper. She tried to ignore how badly she wished she could pick it up. "I didn't even open it."

'A scared little girl, afraid to let anybody in for fear of being hurt more than she already had.' Offered the spirit. 'And you never truly overcame that fear, though others tried to help you.'

Helga could not find it within herself to deny that. She was watching her younger self glance nervously around, before quickly concealing herself behind the chalkboard. She could not hear the childish soliloquy that was doubtless occurring, but she could vaguely see the large cardboard heart clutched tightly to the three-year-old's chest.

'Let us move on.' As the ghost spoke, the surroundings faded to whiteness. They were quickly replaced by the familiar walls of her own home. The wallpaper of the trophy room was less faded than Helga remembered, and a corner of the room was dominated by an unfeasibly huge Christmas tree – something which had not been seen in the Pataki household for many years by now. By the tree sat a familiar, unibrowed little girl in a too-large Christmas sweater, playing half-heartedly with a grand and expensive-looking doll's house. The older Helga grimaced at the memory; like virtually all of her Christmas gifts, the doll house and its delicate, intricate decorations probably cost Bob hundreds. All she had asked for that year in every letter to Santa was a catcher's mitt. In the opposite corner, a teenage Olga sat playing the piano. Their parents stood behind her with adoration in their eyes.

"Beautiful, Olga! Ain't it incredible Miriam? Thirteen years old and our girl can play any carol you want like a pro! Sings like a darned angel too!" Bob grinned and brought Olga in for a tight side-hug.

"We're so proud of you Sweetie!" Miriam agreed with a mild slur, festive eggnog in-hand.

Helga and the spirit watched in silence as the smaller girl walked quietly over to her smiling family and tugged on her mother and fathers' legs.

"Will you guys come play doll's house with me?" Finding herself ignored, the child tugged a little harder and repeated the question. Her father waved a hand at her dismissively, his eyes never leaving his eldest daughter.

"Yeah, yeah, sure Olga, in a minute."

"It's HELGA, Dad. I'm HELGA!" the child began to plead, only to be silenced by a harsh ringing from the kitchen and an airy squeal from her sister.

"Ah, I need to attend to the dinner; I'm preparing us a delicious stuffed turkey with potatoes dauphinoise and all the trimmings. Daddy, I need you to come chop some vegetables, and Mummy, you can help me make the apple pie for desert!" Olga stood and breezed her way out of the room. Her smiling parents muttered their agreement, then followed in her wake.

The little girl was left quite alone. After a while, she returned to her corner.

"Story of my life… Poor little kid." the older Helga muttered in a hurt, bitter tone. She hated to be reminded of this – and people were surprised that she hated Christmas!

'Perhaps, for a time, until one particular year.'

With a wave of the spirit's arm, Helga watched a strange montage of Christmas scenes drift past her eyes. Both girls grew, her father's hair took on its familiar shade of grey, and more and more of the space in the room became filled with trophies made out to Olga Pataki. The repetition of the scene was almost amusing to Helga; she watched herself sit alone each year, trying to busy herself with that year's usually extremely girlish gift, and each year her family would merrily ignore her. Eventually, however, the spirit lowered its arm, and Helga found herself looking at what she knew was her nine-year-old self. The younger Helga was grinning madly, holding a shining new pair of Nancy Spumoni snow boots.

"I spent weeks, hell, _months_ asking for those snow boots. And I mean directly, specifically asking. Bob and Miriam didn't do so well with gentle hints. I actually taped an ad to Miriam's face while she was passed out." Helga was apprehensive – without a word from the spirit she knew exactly where this was going. She watched the child embrace her mother in a rare, tight hug, stammering her thanks.

'You learned that year that the value of Christmas extends far beyond the material.' Began the spirit. The world around them changed, morphing into a snow-filled street in front of a familiar boarding house. The young girl now stood in the cold, hands clasped in front of her, wearing nothing but thick socks on her feet. Through the window, an Asian man and young woman could be seen tightly embracing, tears running down both of their faces. As she watched, the young girl's eyes seemed to shine in a way her older self barely recognised.

'You reached the conclusion on your own. You sacrificed something you had wanted very dearly, yes to please the boy you loved, but also to bring joy to two complete strangers. And you did not even seek recognition. You claim to understand Christmas now, but you knew it better even as a young girl.'

"Christmas Angel…" Helga murmured almost to herself, fixated as she was on the heart-warming scene playing out in front of her. "I stood there in the snow in my socks, and I didn't even feel the cold." She finally turned away to address the spirit directly. "I didn't know any better…"

Her final remark held none of her usual bite or confidence. Helga knew that she was, first the first time in a long time, trying to convince herself.

'And yet you sowed the seed for such a wonderful reward.' The spirit raised its arm once again. As the street faded, Helga heard three words whispered in her younger voice.

" _Merry Christmas Arnold._ "


	6. Christmas Past - Part 3

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 3 – Christmas Past (Part 3)**

As her surroundings refocused, Helga found herself in a place that she had not seen in a very long time. But then, who could forget the opulent (and in Helga's opinion showy) décor of Miss Rhonda Wellington Lloyd. Once the princess had reached middle school, an expanding circle of friends meant that a larger house was simply _entirely_ too necessary to host parties worthy of a Lloyd, and now her get-togethers were held in what could easily be called a mansion. Helga always thought, privately, that a party on the roof of the Sunset Arms could outmatch Rhonda's shindigs any day of the week. Not that she had been to one of those in a while either… During Rhonda's regular sleepovers in her old home, which Helga occasionally attended (purely, she knew, to laugh judgingly at her schoolmates' girlish nonsense), the house had been filled with exquisite ornaments and furnishings, all tastefully arranged as dictated in the very latest catalogues. Now, however, every room was laden with shining glass baubles and greenery. Every counter and surface seemed to be beautifully arrayed with twinkling white lights, and the hallway was dominated by a tree which made the Patakis' look like a sapling, under which was an obscene mountain of perfectly-wrapped gifts.

As Helga took in these surroundings, trying to dismiss the feeling of being in a department store Christmas display, she heard jubilant laughter and cheerful music drifting from the nearby living room. As she and the spirit entered, she was greeted by the sight of her P.S.118 classmates sitting in a tight circle. Many were dressed in Christmassy clothes, though each seemed to have their own personal flair. Lila sat daintily in a soft green sweater, a large reindeer face with a red bobble nose emblazoned on its front. Helga rolled her eyes at the way this, combined with the felt antlers in her hair, made Lila look _ever so_ adorable. Harold's pink belly protruded out from beneath his own too-small sweater, light blue and decorated with snowflakes. He was loudly bragging to Stinky, seated next to him, about the gifts he had already received since the beginning of Hanukkah. Rhonda herself sat primly, clearly trying to avoid ruffling her doubtlessly designer, intricately patterned red and black dress. And Arnold sat, red-faced, between a tearfully laughing Gerald and Sid, each making breathless comments about his own bright red Christmas sweater; a huge, bizarre, hand-knitted affair. Its front was emblazoned with a frighteningly detailed image of Arnold's grandma in an elf hat, giving a thumbs-up, along with the words 'Merry Christmas Kimba'. Upon seeing this, Helga's hand shot to her mouth; she now knew which Christmas this was – the one following her decision to part from her snow boots and give Arnold his Christmas miracle. And that meant she knew what she was here to witness.

"They made me promise I would wear it!" Arnold was muttering in dismay, earning a fresh barrage of laughter from his friends.

"You, my man, are _way_ to honest for your own good!" Gerald finally choked out through his giggles.

Sid nodded briskly in agreement, eliciting a ring from the jingle-belled Santa hat that replaced his usual cap. "Look on the bright side Arnold; at least it's not bunny-"

"DON'T say it!" Arnold's eyes widened and he gave a visible shudder before allowing the conversation to continue. He was fortunately saved as Rhonda's own voice cut through the din.

"I think it's time for a party game everyone! Who has a suggestion?"

Sid immediately raised his hand, a wicked grin barely concealed on his face.

"Oh, I've got one Rhonda!" he produced a small pack of cards. "It's called Forfeit; it's kind of like Truth or Dare, only with a little chance thrown in."

"How does it work?" Rhonda raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"It's easy. The deck goes around the circle, see, and the person across from the holder calls red or black. If they guess the card right, they're safe. If they guess wrong, the holder of the cards gives them a forfeit that they must carry out lest they be cursed for all eternity."

"Sid," Arnold chimed in. "That sounds like it could get embarrassing…" Many of the boys, and some of the girls, groaned at this, casting comments towards Arnold to not be such a worrywart.

"I guess you're up first then Rhonda. Red or black?"

Rhonda narrowed her eyes as if trying to peer into Sid's mind as he grinned at her, card in hand.

"Red." She eventually offered, confidently.

"Afraid _not_!" As Sid revealed the black Jack in his hand, he wore a face that looked as though ten Christmases had come at once. Rhonda gave a haughty scowl, but quickly regained her composure.

"Fine. What's my forfeit?"

Sid brought forth a bag that had been partially concealed behind him. Barely holding his laughter, he slowly withdrew what must have been the cheapest, tackiest looking plastic Santa Claus doll there had ever been.

"I'm SO glad you asked Rhonda!" Standing the doll on the ground, Sid flipped a switch and waved a hand in front of it. Immediately the doll began to robotically shake its hips, while also playing a tinny rendition of 'Here Comes Santa Claus'. Rhonda wrinkled her nose at the offending object.

"Until you guess a card right, this Santa must take pride of place in whichever room you use for your Christmas parties, from now until the end of time!"

On hearing this, Rhonda's face paled, her lips tightened and she let out a tiny, muffled shriek.

"But it's… It's _so_ hideous and tacky! Sid, you planned this!" As Sid and many of the other children fell backwards laughing, drowning out Arnold's 'I tried to warn you…' Rhonda picked up the still-dancing doll as though it were a live landmine and slowly, resolutely positioned it in the centre of the room's grand marble fireplace. As she stepped back, bringing forth a fresh round of 'Here Comes Santa Claus', and examined the doll, she looked as though she might cry.

"What will Mummy and Daddy say?" she whimpered to herself, shaking her head. Her attention was then drawn by a harsh, loud cackle of laughter from the sofa beside her, as was that of Helga, who until now had been enraptured by the antics of her friends. ' _Did I just think friends?_ ' she shook her head. ' _Like I could ever stand the company of those morons._ ' Looking to the source of this fresh laughter, she once again saw her younger self, lounging on the couch in a pink sweater and clutching a large bowl of tortilla chips.

"Looks like Beatle Boots played you, Princess." the young Helga mocked. "Never mind – it goes just _splendidly_ with the room."

Rhonda rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips, looking down her nose at the reclining girl. "I'm hardly surprised that it's to _your_ taste, Helga dear. Are you planning on joining our little game?"

"Pfft. Fat chance Princess. I'll just chill here and watch you all make asses of yourselves."

Rhonda blushed at Helga's response – her language was becoming more colourful these days. "Fine, but if you're in the room then you're in the danger zone. Fair warning." Rhonda finished with a knowing wink before sauntering back to the circle.

The game continued, with forfeits of varying intensity. Lila buried her head in her hands, blushing scarlet red, as she was forced to shout the rudest word the circle could come up with. Brainy was ordered to dance and sing 'Santa Baby' which, after several puffs of an inhaler, he performed in a flawless if alarmingly deep voice. As he sat down and resumed wheezing, the now silent and wide-eyed group of friends wordlessly agreed to never speak of this again. Eugene was dared to perform a thirty-second handstand, prompting most of the group to duck for cover, only to poke their heads out, gaping, as Eugene met the challenge, flipped back to his feet and offered a dramatic 'jazz hands'. Summer dance camp had done wonders. Finally, to his dismay, Arnold was faced with a forfeit from Nadine, who was giggling as Rhonda whispered in her ear.

"Rhonda, that's so _mean_!" She half-heartedly protested, quickly turning back to Arnold. The boy was clearly holding his breath, apprehension growing on his face.

"Give Helga a kiss."

For a second the room was stunned to silence, apart from Rhonda's ongoing giggling. The older Helga face-palmed, both at the look of abject horror on Arnold's face and for what she knew was coming. With an undignified thud, and the crunching of a great many wasted chips, the younger Helga crashed from the couch onto the carpeted floor.

"WHAT!?" Her younger self's screech could have shattered eardrums. While Nadine balked at the looked of pure venom sent her way, Rhonda merely laughed louder and waved a hand dismissively.

"I warned you Helga dear, my house my rules.

The older Helga was also seething at the rich girl now, her mind reliving the maelstrom of terrifying thoughts that had gone through her younger self at that moment. ' _Prissy, conniving little bi-_ " she began to think, until her thoughts were interrupted.

"Let's… Let's just get this over with." Arnold rose to his feet, drawing every eye in the room. The more nervous children seemed ready to resume cover, and even Rhonda suddenly seemed concerned, perhaps becoming very aware of the various, expensive, breakable items in the room. No-one noticed Phoebe, her hands at her mouth concealing a huge grin and crossed fingers. And no-one could look away. The older Helga unconsciously held her breath; she was fixated on her younger face. She had lived this, and yet she could feel the girl's tension. She could practically hear her younger self's heart pounding as she stood there frozen, covered in broken chips.

"Helga." Arnold reached her and held out a hand. " _Trust me?_ " he pleaded in a whisper barely loud enough for the two of them to hear. The younger Helga still stood frozen, her jaw clenched, but seeing Arnold's calm eyes she slowly raised her hand to place it in his. The older Helga, on seeing this, felt the ghost of a jolt travel up her palm. She tried to ignore it.

Without another word, Arnold brought her hand to his lips and gave it a gentle, lingering kiss. He seemed to stop perfectly short of extending the contact to a point where people would question, while keeping it long enough to convey something. The older Helga knew what, but her younger mind, she knew, was reeling. Throughout all of this, green and blue eyes had been locked. At the sound of gasps, and a couple of 'oohs' from their classmates, the moment was quickly broken, and the young Helga shook off Arnold's hand. She narrowed her eyes and, to everyone's shock, put on a small smirk.

"Well played, Football Head." She turned to glare icily at Rhonda and Nadine. "Good thing you were dumb enough not to specify _where_ he had to kiss me Nadine. And Rhondaloid? There will be vengeance. Brutal, maybe newsworthy vengeance. But for now, for the sake of my health, I'm going to calmly go to one of your many, many bathrooms and wash my hand with bleach before I start considering amputation." She paused as if in thought. "I may also induce vomiting, just to be safe."

With that, the young girl stomped out of the room, several children diving out of her path. Only the older Helga, who was quietly impressed by her younger self's composure, happened to notice the small blush on Arnold's cheeks, which faded as he re-joined the circle. About five seconds after he sat down, and young Helga had left the room, the other children erupted into a loud chorus of questioning shouts and accusations, mostly aimed at Rhonda for risking all their lives and some directed at Arnold, asking if he needed medical attention. Inevitably, Harold offered a cackling rendition of 'Helga and Arnold sitting in a tree'. The older Helga watched all of this sadly, knowing that her younger self had only just made it past the door, closing it, before launching into once of the fiercest monologues of her life. ' _And impact in 3..2..1.._ ' she strained her ears to hear the tinkling smash, followed by a thump, of Brainy being knocked unconscious.

She turned to the spirit still beside her, and noticed that its light had never looked gentler or more warming. The ribbon, still embracing her hand, similarly pulsed with a comforting warmth, like a heartbeat.

"You've been awfully quiet. Aren't you supposed to be giving the lesson here? No insights to share?" She asked, suddenly finding the spirit's silence awkward.

'You relived this night without my help regularly in times past. Dreamt of it, cherished it. It held great meaning to you and brought you peace. I have no insight that you have not reached on your own.'

"Sooo… You're basically one of those lazy-ass teachers who put on a video at the start of class and call it 'self-guided study' while they sleep in a corner?" She could have sworn that the flickering smiles of the ghost changed into amused smirks. "So then why are we here?"

The spirit's answer was simple. 'A reminder.'

They resumed watching as the game wound down, ending as a cursing Rhonda lost again and was forced to spend the remainder of the evening always within five feet of an ecstatic Curly.

Soon afterwards, as it grew late, many of the children elected to recline around the various plush chairs and sofas around the room. The music was turned up as a few attempted to dance. Gerald and Phoebe, in particular, moved shyly in time with each other; Helga snorted at the knowledge that they would 'dance around' each other for years longer before finally getting the confidence to start dating. By comparison, a horrified Rhonda stood stock-still as Curly leapt and pirouetted around her in an almost perfect five-foot circle, cackling gleefully.

No-one but Helga noticed Arnold quietly slip out into the hall.

Helga knew from experience that he would find her younger self in the kitchen after a short search. She and the spirit waited there, watching her younger self sit quietly in a corner, staring first at a gold locket and then at the hand which held it.

"Helga?"

"ARNOLD?" The older Helga gave an audible groan at her younger self's startled reaction – to this day the football-headed geek always managed to inadvertently sneak up on her. Not that she spent any of her time mulling over lockets nowadays. "Why do you always have to be such a creeper Football Head? Isn't it bad enough that you've probably infected me with whatever you've got." She waved her kissed hand in his face, the locket concealed in the blink of an eye by sheer reflex. "I swear, if my head grows even _half an inch_ wider, I'm getting surgery to fix it and _you'll_ be footing the bill!"

At this outburst, Arnold gave a small chuckle. The young Helga's eyes went wide – this was definitely a new reaction.

"Something _funny_ Arnoldo?" she seethed. Her face faltered, however, as Arnold approached her more closely. He was staring at her thoughtfully, and they both seemed to become aware of the music drifting in from the other room.

"Would you do something for me, Helga?" Arnold suddenly asked.

"Uh," Helga was stunned. "Like _what_? Didn't I tell you to leave me alone?"

"You didn't actually." Arnold was suddenly wearing the small grin she new so well. In a repeat of the earlier incident he slowly offered his hand. "Will you… Dance with me?"

The older Helga knew that, at that moment, it had taken every ounce of her willpower not to pass out. Nonetheless, it still took her young self some time to recover.

"Are… Have you gone _nuts_ Arnoldo? Like, do I actually need to bleach my hand? Why in the heck would you want to dance with me?" The girl mentally cursed herself – she had meant to ask why _she_ would ever want to dance with _him_.

"It's not like we haven't danced before, and no-one's around. You can call it my Christmas present? And apparently you're already infected with 'what I've got' so why not?" he offered. His smile seemed to grow a little.

"Not exactly answers…" Helga was still incredulous, but she knew a huge (albeit secret) part of her could hardly decline this offer. On a different day she might have ran, but after the earlier incident she was already strained to breaking. "O-ok Football Head, whatever floats you boat. But I'm warning you; one 'you're in good hands' comment and I'll knock your head off!"

"Whatever you say Helga." Arnold was positively beaming now as he pulled Helga towards him. They started to dance – not a close, energetic dance like their infamous tango, but a slow a gentle motion. Arnold, in fact, seemed to be keeping a careful distance, still looking at Helga intently. She dreaded to think of how fiercely she was blushing. Her older self, to her small relief, finally found out that her cheeks had only slightly pinked.

"You know, people say I'm dense Helga." Arnold suddenly spoke after about a minute of silence. It was a statement, not a question.

"T-this is not news Arnold." Helga was so focussed on not meeting his eyes that she neglected to call him anything but his real name. Arnold chuckled.

"Do you ever play with dominoes?" This strange, off-topic question caused the girl to finally meet his gaze, her brow furrowed.

"What kind of question is _that_?"

"I used to play with my grandpa's dominoes when I was little." Arnold continued without waiting for a real answer. "I used to love laying them out in a long chain and setting them off – you could make really cool patterns, but you had to be slow and careful when you were setting them up or it wouldn't come out the best way…"

' _Where the heck is this going?_ ' thought the young Helga. She was uncharacteristically silent, drawn in by what Arnold was saying as they slowly spun around each other. The older Helga, however, was working to dismiss the unwelcome prickling behind her eyes. She was reliving what she had once seen as the best moment of her life.

"So, so let's say someone's set up all these dominoes. Eventually something tips and you can't stop them all coming down. E-even if you try." His hand briefly left Helga's to rub the back of his neck. ' _Is he nervous?_ ' Helga found herself wondering. She looked closer. ' _He's… actually sweating a little bit. It's cool in here…_ ' Arnold seemed increasingly flustered, but determined. He looked straight in her eyes.

"Now, let's say there's this person. This… um… girl. She's always been mean, and I've always wondered why. 'Cause, like I said, I'm dense right?" Another nervous chuckle, but his dance partner was starting to panic. "And let's say this girl has been laying out these dominoes that I keep finding."

' _Oh God, what does he know!?_ ' By this point the young girl's feet were moving entirely on autopilot. She could barely breathe.

"And then one day, out of nowhere, this mean girl does something totally, unbelievably amazing. She gives up a ton of money to help save our home, and in the process she tells me in a seriously scary, intense way that she. Um."

' _Nonononono!_ ' Helga knew her young self had never been so scared. She wanted to pull away from him and run, but she was frozen. She felt like she would take two steps then collapse in a heap.

"That she l-loves me." That did it. Helga stopped moving, but Arnold refused to let go of her hands. As she made small, babbling noises about things being in the heat of the moment, her eyes as wide as saucers, she failed to notice that Arnold's hands were shaking too. Why was she still frozen? The music was still playing. Unlike the FTi confession, Arnold seemed so calm, relatively speaking. Like he had a plan, whereas Helga's brain had completely stalled.

"Now I'm obviously freaked out. It goes against _everything_ I thought I knew about this girl that she could feel that way about me." Arnold regained some composure, ignoring Helga's mumbling. "So, we agree it was a weird, one-off, heat of the moment thing and everything goes back to normal. Except it doesn't. A domino's finally fallen. Suddenly I can't help but remember how this girl just showed up at my house a couple of times. Once on my fire escape and once actually popping out of my wall like a ninja." He lapsed into nervous chuckling again, but quickly pressed on. "And I think about how she's helped me a bunch of times without there necesarily being anything in it for her, like with the parade float, or when Lila turned me down, or the… um… the beach…" Both of their cheeks flush now at the memory of his final example. "And th-thinking about the beach got me thinking about this play we did, where we had to k-kiss, and a weird number of girls turned down the role. I kind of thought it was me…" He rubbed the back of his neck again. He was afraid he was rambling, and Helga was just staring at him like a deer in the headlights. Was she even conscious? She hadn't pounded him yet… Having come too far, he pressed on.

"So, the play makes me think Shakespeare, which makes me think poetry. And I realise I've got this little pink book filled with really amazing, sweet poetry about me. Not to mention a parrot…" The younger Helga formed a coherent thought for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. ' _He kept the pink book?_ '

"And it turns out this girl's handwriting matches the book perfectly. And so now even _I_ can see that what she told me is at least a little bit true. And I can't just not think about it, that would be super unfair to her, so I have to decide how, um, how I feel about her."

Two Helga's reacted to that statement. The smaller one felt a lump forming in her throat and prickling behind her eyes. She had been in no way prepared for this today. The older one, who already knew the ending, simply crossed her arms. ' _Geez, ramble much Football Head? Put the poor girl out of her misery already!_ ' And yet she could not hold back her growing smile.

"Now you'd think it'd be easy, 'cause this girl has bullied me for most of my life. But each of these dominoes has made me see that she's actually really complex, and interesting, and _loyal_. And just like that, when I thought the dominoes were all used up, I remember this _other_ really cool, interesting blonde girl that I had dinner with on Valentine's Day, who wouldn't tell me who she really was. But she 'liked me' liked me too. I felt like a complete moron for not seeing it before – it made me wonder if I needed glasses or something!"

"He told me later about how he kept the shoe." the older Helga muttered to the spirit standing with her. "Like I was Cinderella or something. Little weirdo…" Her smile, of course, had only broadened at the thought. The prickling behind her eyes had not gone away.

"But…" Arnold seemed to finally lose steam. He refocussed on the eyes of the stunned girl in front of him and took a deep breath. "But I really, really liked her."

The younger Helga finally let out a small 'eep' sound, and involuntary noise seemed to finally spur her brain into some form of action.

"Why, um, why are you saying all this now?" Her older self cringed at hearing her younger voice sounding so small and fearful. She could practically feel the hope radiating off her. The whole thing just made her feel uncomfortable and unfamiliar. Arnold on the other hand just seemed to relax upon realising that the girl in front of him was not actually comatose.

"The last domino. It's Christmas, Helga, and it's the first time in a year that I've been able to talk with Mai Huynh." At this answer, the young girl's jaw dropped, her skin paled. "She told me what you did. I don't know what you said to Mr. Bailey for him to not mention you, but he didn't. Still, I know it was you that got him to find her and you that brought her to the boarding house. I couldn't work out how you'd done it at first, but then I remembered how excited you were when you were talking to Phoebe about your snow boots. I knew we couldn't find them for Mr. Bailey, so I sort of… put two and two together."

"You weren't supposed to find out!" Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Helga tore her eyes and hands away from Arnold, crossing her arms and glowering away from him with a defiant, sulky pout. "Crimeny, can't a girl just make a Christmas miracle happen and have it _stay_ a miracle? Where's the mystery?!"

"Helga, you ARE a miracle!" That comment made her head snap back to look at Arnold faster than she knew was possible. Arnold, for his part, blushed intensely but continued. "When you've helped me before, I knew one way or another. Even with saving the neighbourhood, well, deep down you know that Hillwood is your home too, right?" Helga rolled her eyes but stayed silent. "But this, you never told a soul. Never thought I'd find out. You gave up something that meant so much to you to help a family you don't even know, as well as me!" Helga's blush was growing again, and Arnold instinctively re-established his hold on her hands. "I spent the last year thinking I had an honest-to-goodness Christmas Angel, only to find out that I actually kind of DID! I always knew that you were more than a bully, that you were nice deep down, but I kind of think it's more that that. And I… well…" His rant finally faltered as he trailed off.

That name. Christmas Angel. His Christmas Angel. On hearing this the older Helga was struck with a surge of emotion, out of nowhere like a bolt of lightning. It seemed so very long since she had heard him call her that, instead of the snide, sarcastic voice in her head. Her hand shot to her mouth to supress a gasping sob – she no longer thought she could make that sound – but she could not stop the tears that finally broke past her defences and trickled from her eyes. Her younger self, on the other hand, simply asked a question she had feared for more-or-less her entire life.

"Arnold, are you saying that you… like me like me?" Her older self knew that, in her mind, the child was praying to every god she knew about, and a few others to be safe, for an answer that would not crush her.

Arnold simply gulped and steeled himself for what he felt he needed to do. Stepping forward, he closed the gap between them. Helga's breath hitched as he slowly leaned towards her, raising himself on his toes to meet her height, his eyes drawing to a close. What little coherent thought she had left at this point reminded the younger Helga that Arnold would never dream of travelling that final inch without her permission, even as he approached. In that instant, she followed suit, her own eyes closing as she met him halfway.

The older Helga watched as the two joined in their first sweet, mutual kiss, hand-in-hand. Even at her most creative, Helga had never felt able to write a poem that did justice to that moment or what it meant to her. Drying her eyes from her earlier outburst, she sniffed as the two parted, green once again meeting blue as their eyes opened. For a moment they stared at each other, both feeling breathless.

"Like you like you doesn't seem right, Helga. I mean, _yes_ , I really do, but this doesn't feel like when I like liked Lila or Ruth. It's confusing, and different. When I look at you now, even when you're being mean, I can't see just that anymore. Maybe it's a part of you, but I know better than ever you're not that simple. I feel like I've found all these clues to this big mystery of who you are and I _need_ to know more because whatever's at the centre…" He seemed to struggle desperately to find the words for a few moments. "Will be really, really worth it…" He found himself trailing off again. "Is it weird that it feels scary?"

Helga, on the other hand, was speechless. Her legs were shaking, her heart was pounding, and her thoughts were spinning through her head at a million miles an hour. He liked her liked her, in a different way to his crushes. In a way that scared and confused him, but which made him want more. Overwhelmed as the girl was in that instant, her older self knew what she was thinking, almost word-for word. ' _I've had a seven-year head start to work out what love is. I can wait for him to work it out too. I'll be worth it Arnold – I promise._ ' Helga felt a pang of guilt, as though she had betrayed her younger self and let her down. She tried to ignore it; she had been a silly, naïve little girl.

Sixteen-year-old Helga and the spirit continued watching as Arnold broke the tension by suggesting they get back to the party before their friends thought he'd been murdered by a bleach-covered Ol' Betsy. He had needed to pull her; the girl's legs had still been weak. As they left, he asked her younger self if she'd like to see a movie with him. And the last thing Helga heard of the pair, before they left her sight, was her younger self's words finally returning to her; a witty comment about 'nothing on the cheap'.

"Four dates." After a silent minute, Helga addressed the spirit without taking her eyes from the door. "It took that dumb little football-headed goofball a grand total of two movies, one dinner at Chez Paris and one walk in the park to tell me he loved me too." She turned to the spirit, her usual sarcastic smirk unable to hide the tinge of genuine sadness. "They were a little while after Christmas though. Guessing they aren't in your spooky little holiday portfolio. You know I get it, I really do. That night, Arnold, Christmas… They helped me. I was a sad, lonely little girl and they gave me a boost." Her expression then hardened with resolution. "But things _change_. No-one can stop it or protect you from it. And when things change for the worse, you learn quickly enough that its your own strength that counts. I was plenty strong already back then – I just decided to make myself even stronger. I don't need any of them anymore, and I'm safer and happier that way."

'You mistake vulnerability for weakness.' The spirit's faces were now uniformly sad, perhaps even pitying. 'When you embrace your reliance on another, you welcome vulnerabilities into your heart. True, you create new ways in which you can be hurt, but in exchange the strength of that unity is added to your own – when your heart comes under siege, you uphold it together. Yes, to spurn love and brotherhood is to hide yourself from these vulnerabilities, but even then, no heart is indestructible. In the end, you will be left weaker than you can imagine.'

Helga seethed and clenched her fists. She was _not_ weak.

"What are you, the Ghost of Fortune Cookies too? I think I just made it clear that I don't _care_ what you or anyone else thinks about who I should be or how I should live my life. Now are we done? Or are there more stops on Helga's Lamest Hits?"

'Just one.' The spirit raised its arms, and the kitchen faded to white.


	7. Christmas Past - Part 4

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 3 – Christmas Past (Part 4)**

For the first time since the start of her bizarre journey, Helga found herself blinking in the sunlight. All around her lay a blanket of fresh, crisp snow. She recognised her new setting as Hillwood Park. The people of the city milled around her; couples and families walked hand-in-hand, children shrieked as they played together, and a number of dogs bounded and rolled through the thick snow in pure, frenzied delight. Even the adults could be seen playfully shoving and hurling snowballs at their friends.

Helga looked at all of this with a deadpan expression. ' _Well isn't this idyllic._ ' She was tired, mentally and (she could admit) emotionally by this impossible night. She wanted to go home. But her blood itself seemed to chill when her eyes fell on the two figures occupying a bench by the side of a frozen pond. One had a football-shaped head, the other wore a pink bow over a tight, blonde ponytail. She wheeled round to the spirit, whose gaze was also fixed on the young couple.

"You _didn't_!?" Her tone could have frozen a volcano solid. "You're supposed to get me all fuzzy about love and friends and freaking _Christmas,_ and you bring me to see this CRAP!? Take me home _now_!" The spirit was silent, but to Helga's horror the couple started to speak. It was as though their voices were amplified, not so much loud as projecting over the merry sounds of their surroundings. They reached Helga as clearly as if she had been right next them. Suddenly, the girl on the bench shot to her feet, her now-revealed face livid.

"What the hell are you _saying_ , Football Head!?" Even from their distance, Helga could see the girl's chest heaving in what she knew all too well was a combination of rage and panic. Both girls' fists were tightly clenched.

"You heard me, Helga." The boy's voice was flat. He sounded exhausted and miserable beyond his years. But then, he had always been so mature. "I can't be with you anymore. Not like this." He stayed seated, his shoulders hunched.

"You're actually serious! What, you think you can just string me along for three _goddamn_ years and then just push me aside?! Who is it Arnold?" Her voice lowered to a seething growl. "I swear to Christ, if it's Lila I'll beat you to a pulp then drown you _both_ in this pond!"

That made the boy whip his head around. For the first time, Helga could see the pain and disgust on his face. She knew his hands were clenched so tightly on his lap that they were chalk-white and shaking.

"Don't you DARE!" Both Helga and the girl jolted at that sound. Had Arnold ever raised his voice before? Had he ever sounded so furious? "You know full well that there has never, NEVER, been anyone else but you. Especially not Lila, and you _know_ what that poor girl has been through!" Helga thought she saw a moment of sympathy flicker across the girl's face, but it was even more fleeting than the faces of the ghost. "And you do NOT get to accuse ME of pushing you aside! Are _you_ serious?!"

The couple were causing a scene; passers by were hurrying along, families were moving away and a few children sniggered and concealed themselves to eavesdrop on the drama. Helga watched this all, mortified.

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean? We see each other nearly every day! We sit next to each other in more the half our classes!" The girl's voice was choked with disbelief; Helga could not believe that no tears were flowing from her eyes.

"I _follow_ you, I _cater_ to you, I bow to your every whim like a _lapdog_. When did that happen Helga? I don't know, but I sure as heck know why! Somewhere down the line my girlfriend started making me walk on eggshells, and if I crack one she explodes!" He waved his arms frantically, desperately, as if trying and failing to emphasise the girl's rage. "We haven't had a conversation in months – you just throw me a one-word answer, shrug and brush me off. The most we talk is when you spend an hour putting me down for being a 'naïve Goody Two-Shoes'. But even _I_ didn't realise how bad it had gotten until today. You put Harold in the _hospital_ Helga! You broke his _jaw_!"

The girl was becoming frantic, starting to take small paces back and forth, her eyes never meeting his. "You heard what he called me! I don't have to take that from that fat, pink sonofa-"

"A teenage boy called you a name!" The boy cut over her. "And we're talking about _Harold_! Renowned ass since we were three years-old! You _know_ how he is and you never even try to control yourself!"

"THEY ALL NEED TO LEARN!" Helga knew, as she continued to watch in spellbound horror, that the girl's monstrous shriek had echoed throughout the park. Why did it have to sound so much like Miriam's devastated howl? Even the eavesdropping children exchanged frightened looks before bolting as fast as they could. The couple simply gawked at each other in silence as the girl gasped for air, until she finally continued in a ragged voice.

"Everyone… All of those idiots you call our friends, all of the teachers that click their tongues and give me those _stupid_ sympathetic glances when they think I'm not looking, everyone in this _city_ needs to learn that I am Helga G. Pataki. No-one gets away with screwing with me! And I need to spread that message to assholes like Harold Berman myself, because everyone else _leaves_. Apparently even you Arnold… You told me you loved me."

The boy finally stood upon hearing this, but the rage was gone from his face. His jaw was set. He looked so resolute, so horribly calm. Helga could not tell when her tears had started flowing, but her hands flew to her ears in their desperation to block out what she knew was coming next. But nothing could stop the relentless sound.

"I love Helga G. Pataki; the girl who can compose a poem, tell a _real_ bully where to shove it and make my heart skip a beat with a smile in the same thirty seconds. I love my girlfriend, who has the second-highest IQ in the class and used to coach the second-graders in baseball! I _love_ my _Angel_ , and all the brilliant, stupid, _impossible_ parts that she's made of." He was crying now. He made no attempt to hide it. "I. Tried. SO hard. I reached out to you in every way I knew how, and when those didn't work I learned new ways. Dr Bliss tried. EVERYONE tried! You don't WANT me Helga! You don't want anyone! You've convinced yourself that you _like_ being this way – that you like _punishing_ people because you think trying to care makes them weak and stupid. So, you're right. Everyone learned that you, whatever _you_ are, are Helga G. Pataki now. I was just the same, dense Arnold that took the longest to see it. But I'm done being hurt on a daily basis by the monster that swallowed my girlfriend."

"No!" Helga barely even heard herself whimper that word as she shut her eyes as tightly as she could. But she could not block out the harsh, resonating sound of the slap. A part of Helga that had been thrown into a deep, hidden well stirred with a vengeance at the sound. It screamed, thrashed inside her head, and ordered her to look at what she had done. As she opened her eyes, she would have sworn the scene was a still frame if the trees had not been waving in the wind. The couple were rigid, her hand still raised, his eyes gently closed, and his cheek already a flaming red. As the hand fell to her side, the girl looked between it and the boy, speechless. His cheeks were still wet, but he had stopped crying. And then he did the most painful thing he could.

He looked straight into her eyes. He neither blinked nor flinched. He neither scowled nor cowered. For five endless seconds, green met blue.

"If you see my girlfriend, tell her I want her back."

And he was gone.

Helga watched as the girl turned to look out at the frozen pond. She took not one step to follow the boy, but she sat back down on the bench and examined her surroundings as if for the first time. Her face was emotionless. Helga G. Pataki was all alone.

The same could not be said for her older self. The sixteen-year-old Helga's very being shuddered with rage.

" _Why would you make me live through that again?_ "

Mercifully few people had heard Helga use that tone. The first had been Harold on the day his jaw needed to be wired shut. A brave and tragic handful since. And now the Ghost of Christmas Past.

'My light only casts the shadows you have shaped, Helga Pataki.' The ghost responded, its tone ever-unchanged. 'Do not blame me.'

" _Blame you?_ " Helga shrieked. "I'm going to strangle you with my _bare hands_!"

At this, she tore at the ribbon still woven around her palm, shredding it with her teeth when her fingers failed. As she did so, the brightness of the spirit grew and spread. Helga once again found her eyes watering as she glared at the spirit, now an all-encompassing, formless light. As its faces continued to flicker at its core, making it look more than ever like a second sun, they slowed to finally become clear.

Her younger selves, Arnold, Miriam, Bob, Olga, Phoebe, Rhonda, Sid, Harold. A constant, flowing cycle of those who were, and had been but were not in her life. Each face was as implacable as the Helga who had sat on the bench.

With a final, enraged scream, her eyes streaming, Helga charged.

And the brightness consumed her once more.


	8. Christmas Present - Part 1

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 4 – Christmas Present (Part 1)**

Yet again Helga found herself lying prone, alone on her bedroom floor. This time, however, was the result of her crashing at full-speed, into her wall (which now featured a sizeable dent). Helga was home, and the spirit was nowhere to be seen. The shock of the impact was enough to startle her out of the blind, defensive rage in which she had lost herself moments before, and without it she could do nothing to cover the terrible wounds reopened by the ghost's final vision.

Helga G. Pataki wept.

For what felt like a lifetime, the girl lay on the soft carpet, releasing deep, quiet sobs, occasionally lapsing into hiccupping gulps as her chest heaved. This, and her steady flow of tears, betrayed emotions that even Helga, _especially_ Helga, no longer believed she possessed. Her usually iron fists alternated between trembling and clenching desperately at the carpet. A small part of her mind tried to process all of this; even Arnold's original leaving had not caused her to break down so desperately. But reliving that terrible day from the outside looking in had rocked her to her core, especially with their sweet beginning so fresh in her mind. The slap, his resolute stare, and her own emotionless face rattled through her mind over and over. Throughout their entire childhood, even when their relationship was bully and victim and doubly so after, truly striking Arnold had been her big taboo. Her line in the sand. To see that moment with eyes unclouded by anger was harrowing, no matter how much she had sworn to herself that she had changed. Helga cried with raw emotion until her body was exhausted. Eventually however, once her sobs had receded to shuddering breaths, Helga crawled to her bed. Her breakdown left her too tired for further thought. She just wanted to sleep. As she climbed on, not even bothering to collect the covers from her floor, Helga found herself picturing the final view of the Ghost of Christmas Past, the faces of everyone she knew, staring at her blankly, until she quickly passed into a dreamless slumber.

When Helga next woke, her foggy mind struggled to determine for how long she had been asleep. Her room was still dark, aside from the dim light shining in from the streetlamps outside her home. She realised, on thinking this, that she also had no idea how much time she had spent with the ghost. Instinctively, she fumbled for the phone on her bedside table, finally reading the time as 12.59am. Her brow furrowed; surely her time with the ghost could not have taken an entire day.

"Guess I managed to sleep through Christmas after all." she murmured softly to herself. Not that she was disappointed, of course. It was only then that she recalled Miriam's departing words; 'the second on the next night, at the same hour.'

"When the bell tolls one…" She mumbled, still groggy. Her eyes closed for a second, before they rapidly shot open to full alertness. " _OH, SH-_ "

" _BONG!_ "

"GAH, crimeny! _Again_?!" she sat up, her ears once again ringing from the enormous chime. She knew, though, that this chime had been different, seeming very much real to her ears instead of residing in her mind. It had come from behind her. Turning, she became aware of a warm light shining from beneath her closet door, as well as something else. ' _I think I can smell… turkey?_ ' Her curiosity piqued, Helga rose and slowly approached the door. The smell of Christmas dinner was undeniable now; while she dimly wondered why she had not yet felt hungry, given her long night, her mouth could not help but salivate. As her hand rested upon for doorknob, she was shaken once again by an enormous, screaming voice.

" _IT'S CHRIIIISTMAAAAS! Are you hanging up a stocking on your wall?_ "

Before Helga could react to the sudden music, its volume rapidly lowered. A new voice rose above it.

"Sorry, Honey, sorry! Come on up – let's get to know each other!"

Helga's eyebrows raised at the strange, friendly greeting. People rarely tended to be happy to see her. On opening the door, she found the entrance to her attic open, a small stepladder in place. The room above seemed to be filled with the same light as before, and a comforting warmth flowed from the entrance. Helga hesitated, but only for a moment; right or wrong, she doubted this new entity could frighten her given what she had already experienced this night. Bracing herself regardless, she ascended.

She had been at least half wrong. Helga's jaw dropped in shock, if only for the sight of the room. Unlike her attic, which was neither cramped not vast, this room was a huge, luxurious chamber. Every wall was hung with festive greenery, the abundant holly and mistletoe dotted liberally with red and white berries so bright they seemed to twinkle. The decoration of the Lloyd home came nowhere close; this was a forest glade, alive and breathing. The source of the light, and the warmth, was revealed to be a huge, crackling fire, burning in a stupendous fireplace, over which lay what appeared to be a colossal, curved horn. A strange sight for Helga, given the Pataki household had no working chimney. But a stranger sight by far was the food. A thousand feasts in one seemed to be piled into every corner, filling the chamber almost to the ceiling. Scores of stuffed turkeys, and virtually every other meat besides, steaming bowls of roast vegetables, a mountain of rich pies and pastries, countless steaming puddings, and barrel-upon-barrel of Christmas wines, punches and ciders. It seemed as if every morsel of Christmas food in Hillwood had been squeezed into the room. And in front of the fire, in wide space free of food, stood the spirit.

Helga was struck by three things, as she looked at this latest ghost.

The first was her beauty. Her skin was dark and flawless, seeming to glow with vitality and life, and her rich brown hair, topped with an elegant crown of woven ivy, fell past her shoulders in soft, tight curls, each interspersed with twinkling flakes of ice. Her half-lidded eyes and wide smile were radiant. She wore a robe, long and exquisite, coloured in green trimmed with white. It fell past her feet, trailing slightly behind her, and Helga saw from her exposed toes that the spirit was barefoot. The robe was otherwise low-cut, just barely exposing the swell of her breasts; Helga could see that her figure was curvaceous and full. And while the spirit wore no jewellery, from the tie of her robe hung an ornate, rusted sheath for an absent sword.

The second was her size; the spirit towered over Helga. The girl realised that, just as she herself felt small in the grand chamber that had once been her attic, the spirit seemed perfectly to scale. Her presence filled the room more than the bounty of food ever could. She was larger-than-life personified.

The third was that the spirit was happily dancing on the spot while Slade continued playing from a comparatively tiny stereo by her side.

All in all, this was a lot to take in.

Helga was snapped out of her trance by the spirit's warm, rolling laughter.

"When you're done picking up your jaw, we can get started. I'm the Ghost of Christmas Present." she gave Helga a friendly wink. "Pleased to meet you."

Unlike the last ghost, Helga thought her voice sounded full of life and joy. Flustered at being caught in her stunned state, Helga struggled to respond.

"Uh, Helga G. Pataki. B-but you probably knew that, I guess." This caused the spirit to give another delighted chuckle. Helga found herself starting to smile alongside her; everything about this ghost seemed to radiate an infectious, easy mirth.

"You bet I do! I have been _so_ excited to meet you. You know, you left quite an impression on my big brother!"

"Who, the lightbulb?"

"No, no. Well I'm sure you made an impression, but no. I mean one of MY siblings – there's been more than two thousand of us and counting! Granted, you've only met a small handful."

"Two thousand?" Helga tried to process this. One Olga had been more than bad enough. "Well, heh, the family dinners must get exciting. And I thought meals at the boarding house were messy. I kind of think I'd remember meeting your family though, especially if they're all as, uh… statuesque as you are."

The ghost, who had been laughing heartily at Helga's small joke, now stuck out a pink tongue.

"First of all, _thank you_ ; big as I need to be to fill any room into which I'm invited, and to embrace everyone who welcomes my company. And secondly, you didn't see them but you were sure in their presence. One in particular – seven years ago ring any bells?"

Helga mentally worked her way back. ' _Doi – the year of the snow boots. Guess I was being watched…_ ' This notion made Helga cross her arms and quirk an eyebrow, the smirk on her face far more good-natured than her usual snide grins.

"What are you, a family of Christmas stalkers or something?"

"Humph," the spirit gave a light-hearted pout. "Pot calling the kettle black, lover-girl. And we never go where we're not welcome. Now let me take a look at you or we'll be here all night!" Helga took a surprised step back as the spirit suddenly shrank to match her height. She stood frozen as the spirit walked around her in a slow, scrutinising circle, looking her up and down and delivering an occasional, obnoxious prod. A less-stunned Helga would have lashed out in a heartbeat, but the spirit suddenly came to a stop directly in front of her, staring into her eyes and grinning like a Cheshire cat. Helga saw, for the first time, that her eyes were a light brown interspersed with flecks of hazel and dark green, like the bark of a young tree.

"He wasn't wrong – you've got one heck of a spark in you!" Then her face suddenly fell; it struck Helga that it looked utterly unnatural. "Buried it deep though, haven't you? But it's all right, Honey. I'm here now."

Helga was flabbergasted; was she being pitied? Helga felt her trademark anger start to swell for the first time in the spirit's easy presence. She took a stabilising breath.

"Look, I've already been put through the ringer today by two ghosts who thought they knew what I needed, and can honestly say that I feel _worse_ than I have in years!"

"Great!" the spirit beamed and offered a big thumbs-up. "And while we're having our little stroll you can take some time to work out why. Now we really need to get going; I don't have all day. Um, bad choice of words. Just grab my robe…"

As she was offered an arm, Helga frowned. She knew better than to argue further at this point.

"Crimeny, you ghosts are stubborn…" She looked at what lay beneath the outstretched limb. "Uh, nice scabbard by the way? Needs a polish and I think you dropped your sword."

"Oh yeah, thanks. It's an heirloom – peace among men." The spirit suddenly looked sheepish. "Don't let me lose it, or my future siblings will have to switch to a gun holster. We've been warned."

"O..kay." The spirit was baffling Helga. ' _Is this her first day on the job or what?_ ' Shaking her head, she firmly grasped a handful of the soft sleeve. The spirit, meanwhile, raised her other arm in the direction of the fire, which instantly burned out as the fireplace expanded even further. The strange horn above it drifted calmly to the spirit's open hand, shrinking to around the size of a French horn. Helga thought she heard laughter through the new doorway.

The spirit seemed to hear the same thing, and roared with warm laughter of her own. Pulling Helga into action, the two strode forward.

"And awaaay we go!"

* * *

 **A/N The song was 'Merry Christmas Everybody' by Slade, which I don't own no matter how much I would love the extravagant royalties.**


	9. Christmas Present - Part 2

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 4 – Christmas Present (Part 2)**

' _Crimeny, it's even worse than I thought…_ '

The sight that greeted Helga as they stepped through the doorway was a familiar one; the grey streets and eclectic townhouses of Hillwood. And just as she had feared, the previous night's snow lay over every street and sidewalk in a thick, white blanket. The light of the morning sun, barely poking over the roofs of the high buildings, shimmered and glared off every surface. Even the rusted dumpsters, aged sills and cracking stoops, normally a bleak and dingy sight, seemed to shine with their coating of fresh powder. Despite the early hour, Helga could see that her predictions were correct as she spied the source of the earlier laughter; children of all ages milled through the streets, delightedly laughing and screaming in equal measure. Helga had always hated the word 'frolicking', it always seemed outdated and juvenile to her, but no word could better describe the sight. The roads, nearly free of traffic, had quickly been claimed as sledging racetracks, the frosty air was alive with flying snowballs, and every corner had been claimed by well-dressed snowmen, or snow forts pragmatically in place for when the snowball fighting escalated into all-out war.

Faced with all of this, Helga did her best to remain stoic, her arms crossed and her expression deadpan. She tried to firmly remind herself of what she had absolutely known the previous evening; that snow, and especially children playing in that snow, were nothing but a pain and a nuisance that made going about her life that much more difficult. She really did. The warmth in her chest and the quickening of her heart were almost certainly the symptoms of an undiagnosed medical condition. The spirit did not help matters, of course. As soon as they had entered their new surroundings, she had run laughing into the fray. While she left no footprints, the Ghost of Christmas Present darted to and fro, marvelling at every snowy construct, cheering and applauding every sled race, and howling with laughter at every well-placed missile. Helga thought she seemed to bask in the joy, as if it were the air she breathed. Her interest rose further as a particularly small girl, cocooned in what Helga assumed were at least seven warm layers of winter clothing, received a particularly large snowball to the face, which sent her reeling to the ground. The child began to sniffle, and Helga winced in preparation for a colossal tantrum. The spirit, however, stood over the girl, smiling down on her lovingly. Bending low, she placed a gentle kiss on the child's small small brow. The sniffling was immediately replaced by a wide grin, as the girl frantically made a snow angel with her arms and legs before scrambling to her feet to join her friends. The spirit, meanwhile, finally seemed to calm slightly, enough to return to Helga's side.

"Sorry, got a little caught up in the moment."

"Hey, don't let me stop you. Just magic me back to my place then you can go," Helga let out a small shudder, " _frolic_ to your heart's content!"

"There's nothing wrong with frolicking! Being so full of happiness that you can't sit still is kind of the dictionary definition of a kid on Christmas. Grown-ups too if they do the day right!"

Helga pouted at this and narrowed her eyes.

"You'll forgive me if I don't see the appeal of making an ass of myself."

"Being an ass is relative." the ghost gave a shrug. "In a room full of a hundred people dancing the Funky Chicken, the ass is the one person scowling in the corner refusing to have a good time. And believe me when I say that the people having the time of their lives do _not_ give a hoot about what that person thinks. Now come on, we've got a lot to see."

As they began to walk, the spirit's comment left Helga thoughtful. They strode through familiar streets, many of the businesses closed for the day, observing as every walker seemed to share a smile and a friendly greeting. They found that Green Meats stood half-open, its shutter closed but its door ajar. A small queue of customers, each looking hastily-dressed and decidedly relieved, stretched into the street. As they passed, Helga saw Mr Green himself joking happily with a man at the counter as he handed over a long chain of sausages and a jar of roasting fat. The customer looked pleased beyond words, his hands clasped in gratitude. Mr Green always set aside a part of his Christmas morning to help those who inevitably forgot some small but crucial component of their dinner; he loved making them smile.

"It's amazing how much of an impact a little generosity can have on people." The spirit had caught Helga staring.

"Well let's not get too carried away. I bet old Mr Green makes some pretty big bucks being the only store open. He's just being, you know, a good businessman and getting some actual use out of this crummy waste of a day. And don't even get me started on _those_ clowns!" She gestured to numerous stores across the street, each displaying a range of ads for grossly expensive games, gifts and electronics. Several still bore large banners reading 'BLACK FRIDAY DEALS EXTENDED'.

"You know," Helga continued, "there were nearly a dozen arrests at the Hillwood Mall this year 'cause of people going nuts over the 'must have' gifts. You talk about generosity and all that 'season of goodwill' crap, but it seems to me like this holiday of yours just brings out the worst in people." Helga turned to face the spirit, who she realised had stopped abruptly.

"Now listen, because I'm only going to say this once." The spirit laid a firm hand on Helga's shoulder and met her eyes, her stern face making Helga feel like child who had been caught cursing. "Those people, the one's that twist this day with their materialism and pit people against each other, don't know us. And we don't know them. Christmas, ACTUAL Christmas, is about celebrating the love we share with the people closest to us no matter _what_ we do or don't have, and being grateful regardless. It's about showing kindness for kin and strangers alike, like we just saw, because _being_ good _feels_ good. Sure, there's a place for generosity and exchanging gifts, but don't _ever_ make the mistake of thinking those people are selling what we're selling."

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Helga's eyes widened and she waved her arms defensively, taken aback by the spirit's sudden serious demeanour. "Geez, you sound like Phoebe…"

"Well Phoebe has the right idea." The spirit's amicable grin reasserted itself as quickly as it had vanished, as if it hated to be away any longer than necessary. "Grab a hold; I'll show you what I'm talking about." With that, the spirit once again offered her arm, which Helga accepted. The scenery around them blurred and shifted, until eventually they found themselves standing outside a particularly grubby and dilapidated old building. Helga immediately recognised this as a less-than-desirable side of Hillwood. Even the snow, despite its best effort, barely seemed able to cast a positive shine on the decrepit old structure, and several of its windows had been securely boarded over. The same cheap plywood appeared to have been used in the construction of a flimsy, makeshift ramp that lay unevenly against the stairs leading up to the entrance. A single one of the un-boarded windows, Helga noticed, had been strung with a row of cheap, flickering fairy lights.

"Who the hell lives in this dump, Oliver Twist? No wait, isn't this where the Jolly Olly man dumps the bodies?" Helga derisively snarked. The spirit, however, was undeterred.

"Let's find out! Don't worry, this is kind of a 'fly on the wall' situation – they can't see or hear you."

"Wait, we're going in there? Well sheesh, let's hope that if I can't be seen or heard then I also can't be stabbed…"

Together they ascended to the front door, Helga releasing a small 'eep' as they passed straight through without resistance. The inside of the house was, if anything, worse than the outside at first glance. The wallpaper of the hallway peeled here and there, showing large signs of spreading damp. The faded old carpet beneath them was similarly filled with worn out holes. As they traversed the hall, it became clear that every item of furniture was in a terrible state; chairs leaked copious amounts of stuffing, tables and drawers were discoloured and chipped from age, and every lamp and decoration seemed haphazardly mismatched, highlighting bare function over style. It did not escape Helga's notice, however, that every surface was meticulously clean and free of dust, the threadbare carpet otherwise spotless. Eventually her eyes fell on a large, framed photograph sitting proudly on an aged side table, and Helga's brow furrowed in genuine, unbidden sympathy as she realised just who's home they had entered.

' _Oh, Lila…_ '

Staring back at her from the frame was Lila Sawyer in all her fourth-grade glory, fiery-red braids and a saccharine-sweet smile in place, her hands clasped delicately in front of her. Her father stood behind her, his own hair and thick moustache matching his daughter's auburn shade. He was heavy-set and beaming, his eyes filled with pride and his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. They stood together in front of what Helga knew had been their first home in the city, itself old and worn but their home nonetheless. Helga remembered how resolute the small family had been back then, scraping by for their first difficult few weeks in the city before circumstances improved. She had truly respected Lila for that.

"Daddy, dinner is ready!" Helga was snapped out of her memories by a sweet voice calling from a nearby doorway

"Be right there!" A male voice responded from elsewhere in the house, only to be followed by several alarming thuds. " _Aargh_ , darn it!"

"DADDY?" a flash of red bolted past Helga's vision in the direction of the crash. Helga listened to the muffled conversation.

"…have to be more careful!"

"I'm fine. I said I'm _fine_! Sorry Sweetheart, I'm sorry…"

At this, the speakers finally revealed themselves. A sixteen-year-old Lila emerged, pushing her father in a simple black wheelchair. His face was flushed with embarrassment. Her face, on the other hand, was smiling as ever. Both were far paler and far thinner than the family in the photograph.

"It's ok Daddy, I know it's frustrating. Now let's enjoy our dinner before it gets cold. The turkey was smelling so good – it's sure to be ever so delicious!"

Helga and the spirit followed the two into a cramped dining room, adjoined to a tiny kitchen. It was the window of this room, Helga noticed, that had been graced with the family's only Christmas lights. The place was otherwise filled with simple chains and folded ornaments of green and red paper, many slightly torn or creased, and a few sparse candles. It looked beautiful.

' _She's right._ ' Helga thought as she sniffed the air. ' _Dinner smells great._ ' It had been several years since Helga had enjoyed a Christmas meal. Having positioned her father at the head of a creaking dining table, Lila spent a few moments busying herself in the kitchen before returning, proudly brandishing two steaming plates of food. As the plates were laid down, however, Helga saw that each contained only a single, small turkey fillet, a modest pile of boiled potatoes (Mr Sawyer's pile being a good deal larger than his daughter's) and a side helping of carrots and green beans, all covered in a watery-looking gravy. Mr Sawyer gave his daughter a patient yet chastising look, before swiftly forking over a handful of his potatoes to Lila's plate, leaving the portions even. Lila, for her part, simply giggled and rolled her eyes in a look that said 'sue me – I tried.'

"Thank you so much Sweetie, this looks just wonderful. Would you like to say grace?"

"I'd love to." Lila beamed and accepted her father's outstretched hand. Both then closed their eyes as she began a short, thankful prayer.

As she watched, Helga refamiliarized herself with what she remembered of Lila's situation. It had been years, after all, since the other girl occupied more than a passing (usually malicious) thought in Helga's mind. Mr Sawyer was a skilled engineer, having been raised a farm hand before earning a formal qualification. Lila never spoke of her mother, except perhaps to Arnold, who Helga knew could relate and who would sooner die than betray a friend's trust. Regardless, it was clear that her loss had hit the Sawyer family hard and spurred their abrupt move to the city. Times had been challenging at first, not aided by the spiteful attitude of Lila's new P.S.118 classmates, but when Mr Sawyer had been awarded a well-paid maintenance position at a local factory, circumstances finally seemed to improve. For a time, the family had been comfortable and content. Nearly four years later, however, after the loss of Helga's own mother, disaster had struck. A terrible workplace accident robbed Mr Sawyer of the use of his legs. He was confined to a wheelchair, permanently. What followed had been a heart-breaking battle to stay afloat, as the family fought in equal measure to pay the weighty hospital fees, seek accident compensation and put food on the table while Mr Sawyer underwent physical therapy. Helga had never been privy to the full details. One result, however, was the sale of the Sawyer's home, and the family's reluctant acceptance of an offer to move into the Sunset Arms for several months until they found new lodgings. Arnold had insisted, and Helga had been furious. She had known, of course, that Arnold saw Lila as nothing more than a friend, and that it was impossible for Arnold to ignore someone in distress, but it had been the principle of the thing. Seeing them now, Helga wanted the floor to swallow her whole.

The spirit, on the other hand, was watching the family with an almost maternal look of adoration, a sombre smile playing on her lips. Helga saw her reach into the strange horn she carried, dusting both plates with a large handful of strange, twinkling powder pulled from within. As the Sawyers ended their prayer with a shared 'Amen', and began to eat, their faces quickly lit up with joy, and each remarked on the wonderful taste of their simple meal. The elation was enough to shake Helga from her slump and raise her curiosity.

"Okay, I'll bite." She softly addressed the ghost. "What's with the horn? What did you sprinkle on their food?"

The ghost turned to her, her own expression deadpan.

"Monosodium glutamate."

"WHAT?"

" _Pfft!_ " the spirit's face cracked, and in an instant she was doubled over in unstoppable gales of laughter. Tears even flowed down her eyes. "Ahahahaha, your face! Can you imagine?! Merry Christmas – have some MSG! Hahahahaha!"

For several moments, Helga stared blankly, her mouth agape. Then, suddenly, she let out a single chuckle. Then another. In a second, Helga found herself equally overcome by her own laughter for the first time in years. She had forgotten how wonderful it felt. For the first time since this all started, the tears flowing down her eyes were not tears of sadness. After several minutes, she composed herself enough to breathlessly continue.

"C'mon, hehe, seriously. What _is_ that stuff?"

The spirit straightened and, perhaps for show, dusted off her robe. While her laughter subsided, her smile was as wide as ever.

"This horn is Plenty, and the powder within is the seasoning of my family. Its flavour can't be put into words. Look around you, Honey, then look at them. What do you see?"

Helga did as she was told, surveying the room as if there were some obvious thing that she had missed, then looking back to the Sawyers, still smiling and eating while joined in happy conversation.

"I don't see anything, I guess. The house is kind of a dump and Lila probably cut out these decorations herself. Their meal is tiny – they don't even have any stuffing for that turkey for Pete's sakes – but they seem… content? Actually, they seem downright _happy_."

The spirit nodded proudly at her – apparently this was the right answer.

" _Exactly_. They have so little, and they ask for so little. There's no tree in this house, and no pile of presents. Their meal is simple and small. But they HAVE a home, and they HAVE a meal, and they have _each other_! And today they're genuinely happy for all of that, no matter what their lives are lacking. The seasoning from this horn is just that; a seasoning. It enhances the flavour of what these wonderful people have already made for themselves, and makes the meal taste as it should. To an undeserving, ungrateful person, a five-star banquet seasoned this way would taste of nothing but ash, but this family and others like them have earned the finest of feasts."

"Is it only people who are… you know… that have less who get some?"

"Not necessarily, though meals like this one often need it most."

Together, Helga and the spirit watched the peaceful scene in silence for another minute or so. The feeling of contentment and love seemed to radiate from the small family, warming Helga from the inside-out. Much like her earlier laughter, she had forgotten how good it could feel to share happy company. Eventually, her mind swimming in these forgotten emotions, she found the courage to ask her next question.

"Can I see more? Please?"

The spirit smiled in gentle understanding, without a trace of mockery or condescension, and once again offered her arm. Helga's eyes remained glued to the Sawyers as she gripped the sleeve tightly, until the room once again began to shift.

Much like the visions of Helga's melancholy childhood, the scenes they visited slowly drifted past her in a strange montage. In each, she saw familiar faces smiling and laughing together as they celebrated the day. She chuckled as a grinning Gerald and Jamie O Johanssen arm-wrestled fiercely at the dinner table for the rights to the last slice of turkey, only for young Timberly to snatch and consume it with a nonchalant shrug. She gawked as the Lloyd family were served a monumental feast, only to be joined around the enormous table by their small army of staff. Their brief brush with poverty had reminded the Lloyd's to embrace and reward the people in their employ, and the diverse group shared the splendid meal as equals. She watched in impressed enjoyment as Sheena and Eugene, best friends forever, performed their elaborate Holiday dance performance for their combined families, and joined in the applause as the breathless, beaming teens completed their display. And she felt the swell of a familiar, old affection for her once best friend, as she watched a giggling Phoebe Heyerdahl share a thick, strawberry sponge cake with her parents, cream dotting each of their laughing faces. At each stop, whenever a meal was to be found, the spirit would delicately season each morsel, and every joyous scene caused Helga's own long-dormant spirit to swell. Eventually, as they observed Monkeyman singing carols around a trashcan fire with other homeless citizens of Hillwood, Helga found the nerve to swallow her pride and make her next request.

"Show me Arnold?"


	10. Christmas Present - Part 3

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 4 – Christmas Present (Part 3)**

She had asked the question shyly, hesitantly, but in truth Helga was desperately eager. Seeing the jubilant celebrations had filled her head with recollections of the peculiar holiday gatherings that could only be found at the boarding house. She had enjoyed many such events throughout her time with Arnold, devouring hot dogs at Thanksgiving and hunting for painted eggs on New Years Eve, and she knew that Christmas was a rare, if not unique holiday where Gertie consented to let the residents celebrate according to tradition (though she entertained them all with Thanksgiving songs). Replaying these memories, Helga found herself missing not only Arnold, but his entire, quirky family. Every Shortman and every boarder besides had always welcomed her with wide open arms.

The spirit said nothing, but her eyebrow raised and her smile took on a slightly cheeky edge; a look that said ' _I wondered when you'd crack_ '. Helga could do nothing but gently blush and avoid her gaze as she re-established her grip on the sleeve and their surroundings once again began to spin. Naturally, Helga had expected to find herself in the warm, familiar surroundings of the boarding house. Instead, as the motion ceased, she saw that they now stood in the clinical, white hallways of a hospital. Doctors and nurses in white coats and coloured scrubs milled back and forth, often engaged in rapid, low-level conversation. Many carried clipboards, stacks of paperwork or stainless-steel trays laden with medication and sharp implements. The strange, trademark hospital odour – an unpleasant combination of disinfectant, rubber and something unidentifiable but sour – hung heavily in the air. Helga's panic rose instantly, a long-dormant reflex, and her eyes were frantic as she spun to face the ghost.

"A hospital? Arnold's here? Take me to him _now_!" Her breath hitched, and her heart was pounding. ' _I didn't think I'd crashed into him THAT hard!_ '

The spirit, however, simply smiled wider and pointed over Helga's shoulder. Turning, she saw a young man with a football-shaped head advancing towards them, a plaid scarf still wrapped around his neck and a brown paper back clutched tightly under his arm. On seeing Arnold apparently unharmed, Helga's shoulders sagged in relief and her breathing returned to normal. She turned back, narrowing her eyes accusingly at the spirit, who had covered her mouth in an attempt to conceal her giggling at Helga's unguarded, concerned reaction.

"And I suppose you think that was funny?" Helga glared, her hands on her hips. The spirit rapidly shook her head, though her body was now trembling with contained laughter. Helga pointed a threatening finger. "Not a word."

At that moment, Arnold hurried past them. Helga followed, confused; the hospital hallways may as well have been a labyrinth to her, despite the colourful lines that wove here and there to direct visitors to particular wards, but Arnold strode through them as if it were second nature. Finally, they reached a set of double doors, over which lay the large and ominous word, 'ONCOLOGY'. Helga's brow furrowed, her worry returned afresh as she turned back to the spirit seeking answers.

"He's not..? He doesn't..?" She found herself barely even able to ask. The spirit gave a reassuring smile and shook her head.

"Don't be scared, Honey. He isn't here for himself."

Helga knew there was no point in trying to deny her fear as she took a deep, calming breath. If nothing else, the spirit's reassurance left her too relieved. Instead, they followed Arnold through the doors and watched as he headed towards the receptionist's desk. The man behind the counter gave him a familiar smile as he approached.

"Hey Craig, merry Christmas. I'm here to see Francesca."

"Merry Christmas to you too! This is a nice surprise – they'll be thrilled to see you. Sign here, you know where to go."

Arnold's own toothy smile broke across his face as he signed his name on the form.

"Great, I hoped he'd be here too! Catch you later."

With this, Arnold left the desk, making a beeline for another nearby set of double doors. Helga hurried behind, her mind now swimming with fresh questions.

"Okay, you got me. I'm officially confused." She addressed the spirit beside her, once again seeking clarity. "Why is Football Head here on Christmas Day? Why is he on a first-name basis with the receptionist of a freaking cancer ward!?" She withheld the additional, burning question that hung in the air: ' _And just who the hell is Francesca?'_ Before the spirit could respond, Arnold had stepped through the doors. Within seconds, to Helga's fresh shock, he had been pulled into a crushing embrace by what she assumed was an escaped gorilla. As he was lifted bodily off the ground there was in fact an audible crack, and Arnold wheezed in pain.

" _DUDE_ , the hell are you doing here!?" Helga was amazed – the gorilla could talk. "Merry Christmas Bro!"

Arnold let out a pained chuckle and playfully socked the hulking figure on the arm until he was dropped. It took several shaking breaths before he had the wind to respond, a huge smile still painted across his face.

"Merry Christmas Wolfgang!"

"WOLFGANG?" Helga hoped that the hospital might be equipped to reattach her jaw. Wolfgang; the terror and despair of their class throughout their childhoods until his merciful departure to a different middle school than the P.S.118 gang. She had assumed, as had many of those that suffered under him, that he had long since been locked away in a juvenile detention facility, unless his crimes warranted being tried as an adult. As she took in his colossal figure, she maintained to herself that 'gorilla' may still apply. Wolfgang, always huge for a boy his age, now stood well over six feet tall. His chest was broad enough to be considered a wall, and his biceps bulged against the confines of his shirt (though he had apparently outgrown his old, trademark snake motif). The greatest difference was his hair; his outdated mullet had been cropped into a simple buzzcut, and he now sported the beginnings of a ragged, blonde beard. His smile, still boyish and crooked, bore none of the menace that even Helga used to dread.

"You mentioned yesterday that your mom had to work a double shift. I guessed you'd be here with Franny, so I figured I'd drop by." Arnold waved the large bag he had been carrying, amazingly still in his hands after the earlier assault. "I brought you guys some dinner sandwiches – my grandma's cooking can be unorthodox, so I can't guarantee quality, but we both know how badly the food in this place sucks."

Wolfgang's wide eyes homed in on the bag as if he were a man half-starved. Helga could swear she heard an actual, deep growl rumble out from his stomach.

"Shortman, I love you and I want to have your babies."

' _Well THERE'S a horrifying image!_ ' Helga thought to herself as she recoiled, aghast.

With a shake of his head, Wolfgang continued.

"They gave the kids a little tray of Christmas dinner, the one's who felt up to eating anyway, but I forgot my wallet and the cafeteria doesn't do charity. I think you might have just saved my life…" Arnold gave a short laugh at Wolfgang's enthusiasm. "But first things first, let me fetch my girl. I gotta tell you – those presents of yours went down a treat, so the kids are pretty hyper. You've been warned, dude."

At this, Helga finally snapped out of her Wolfgang-induced shock to take in their surroundings. Unlike the stark, unfeeling halls they had passed through to get here, this room was bright and colourful. Every wall was painted with childish illustrations, reminding Helga strongly of her recent view of Urban Tots, and the floor was covered in large toys and soft-play shapes. Children squealed and milled around, much as before, their ages ranging but none apparently older than five or six years. Helga saw the difference though, if only in some of them. Many seemed thin, or frail, their hair cropped short or missing entirely. All wore bright or patterned hospital gowns. Their smiles were no less sincere, though, than those seen at Urban Tots, and they attacked the toys strewn about the room with equal gusto.

' _Doi._ ' The answer finally reached her. _'Hillwood Children's Hospital. Arnold said he was coming here with toys. But Wolfgang?_ ' As if on cue, Wolfgang's voice rose above the din of the children.

"Hey String Bean, look who's here to see you!"

"ARNUUULD!" A tiny girl broke from the crowd, her own gown bright pink and dotted with white flowers. She bolted towards Arnold, who knelt down with open arms. As she rapidly approached, Helga saw that the fuzz of her hair, cut down to almost nothing, was the same shade of straw blonde as Wolfgang's. Her pixie face was pale, but beautiful, and her grin could have challenged even that of the Ghost of Christmas Present. Helga wondered her age; she could not have been older than three. Perhaps four. She charged into Arnold with the force of a small missile, eliciting a fresh wheeze from the teenager, and her own arms quickly latched around his neck.

" _Oof_ , you're gonna be a quarterback, just like your big brother. Merry Christmas Franny!"

' _His sister. Wolfgang has a sister. When did THAT happen?_ ' Helga finally came to the realisation.

"MERRY CHRISTMAAAS!" Helga gave a sympathetic cringe as the little girl practically screamed in Arnold's ear. "Santa came! Come see!" With that, the girl released Arnold from her iron hold, only to grip his hand and drag him to the pile of toys in the middle of the room. Various other children and visiting family members shouting greetings as he passed. Wolfgang stood waiting, and together they smiled and congratulated Francesca on her newest acquisitions. It was Wolfgang, ironically, who persistently reminded her to share. For the first time since arriving, Helga found herself more-or-less alone with the spirit. Eventually, she could contain herself no longer.

"So, what, the lesson here is that they also celebrate Christmas in the Twilight Zone? I mean come on, that's Wolfgang over there. _Wolfgang_! The guy nearly put half our class into a coma every other weekend till middle school! And now he's calling Arnold ' _Bro_ '? I'm sorry, but I refuse to believe that any amount of Christmas spirit, or turkey dinner, or magical freaking fairy dust could turn that knuckle-dragging Neanderthal into a decent human being!" Helga was making herself almost frantic; the scene she had just witnessed went against everything she thought she knew about her childhood nemesis.

"Is it _really_ so hard to believe?" The spirit challenged, her hands firmly squared on her hips. "You've spent so long reminding yourself that things can change for the worse that you've completely forgotten that _people_ can change for the better. While you were alone, building your walls, disregarding everything you used to know and becoming an infinitely _worse_ human being, Wolfgang was gifted with a little sister. That girl, that _love_ , changed him. Better yet, it made him pull his head out of his ass and change himself. Another person, one he loves so much it hurts, inspires him every day to be the best he can be, or to at least _try_. Sound familiar?"

This verbal attack left Helga stunned, the wind taken out of her. She was shocked at how the spirit, usually brimming with warmth and laughter, sounded hurt, almost hostile. As she looked closely at the ghost, for the first time in a while, she began to wonder; had those thin streaks of grey hair always been there? Had her face always been lightly creased with slight wrinkles and crow's feet? Helga found herself silently cursing the fact that, no matter how many of her trusted defences she raised, or how much bitterness she threw, the spirit was always completely, undeniably right. Once again, for all her wit, Helga could think of no response to truthfully challenge the spirit's assault. Instead, she returned her gaze to Francesca, now proudly showing off a small, stuffed elephant to her adoring brother and Arnold.

"What's… What does she have?" To Helga, the adorable girl was a complete stranger, and yet she found herself deeply dreading the answer.

"Francesca has leukaemia." The ghost's quiet response made Helga's heart plummet. "She lives here at the hospital now. Wolfgang visits her almost every day, since their mother works odd shifts. He signed up as a volunteer, so he could be here outside of normal visiting hours. They all do their best, even though they're scared."

"Is she going to get better?"

"I can't say for certain. My sphere is the here and now. But my brother knew that I would meet you, and as far as I can tell, none of my future siblings will meet that little girl."

Helga closed her eyes and clenched her fists, trying to hold back the emotions that flooded forward on hearing this dark implication. ' _Brave little kid..._ '

"But what does it matter, right?" Helga's eyes shot open in appalled fury as the spirit continued her scandalous remark. "I mean, just look at all this perfectly good stuff being wasted on these kids. Half of them probably won't even be around to use it by New Year!"

Hearing this, her own poisonous statement recited word-for-word, Helga's knees went weak. Her breath caught. She wanted to be sick. The look of utter disappointment on the spirit's face as their eyes met made her feel more deeply embarrassed and ashamed than she could even describe.

"I love you, Honey, I really do. But I've got to tell you – that one hurt."

It had been a long time, years in fact, since Helga had felt compelled to offer a sincere and heartfelt apology. Now that the moment came, she could scarcely find the words. She watched not just Francesca, but each of the children playing and relishing the day in spite of everything set against them. She saw the eyes of every visiting family member filled with love and hope. The weight of how insensitive, how wrong she had been, crashed down over her like a tidal wave, and she slumped against the nearby wall.

"I'm so… I didn't…" Her hands furiously twisted and pulled at the hem of her pyjamas as she tried to stutter out the 'sorry' that she herself felt could never be enough. The spirit's face, however, softened into a look of patient understanding. Her hand once again lay on Helga's shoulder, this time gentle and comforting.

"I know." The spirit joined Helga, leaning her tall body against the wall. "A lifetime isn't measured in length, Helga, and a brief life is no less valuable or deserving of love. If anything, it needs it more. Never forget that again."

Helga simply nodded, not trusting herself to speak. For a while, the two continued to watch the children play. Arnold and Wolfgang eventually broke away from the group, leaving Francesca with her friends, and the two boys sat in nearby chairs as they caught their breath, laughing at the fun. Before long, they were engaged in friendly conversation while Wolfgang attacked several of the homemade sandwiches with the zeal of a man possessed.

"So, the good news is that my background check cleared, so I should be able to volunteer here regularly not long after New Year." Arnold proudly revealed.

Wolfgang's face lit up on hearing this, his cheeks still filled with food.

"That's awesome!" Crumbs flew everywhere as he responded. "I mean, you've only been coming around here a month and a half and Franny's already crazy about you. The other kids too. You've got a gift, dude! I'd think you were the _actual_ Santa Claus if your head wasn't so weird."

Before Arnold could retort to the good-natured jab, the doors to the hallway opened. A short, austere-looking older woman in a white coat entered, thick-rimmed glasses over her eyes and her hair styled in a grey perm. As she entered, every child in the room seemed to freeze and hold their breath.

"Remain calm, no more needles today." The doctor's face broke into a kind smile as the children collectively exhaled in relief and returned to their important business. Her eyebrows rose as she spied Arnold, himself grinning at the display.

"Why, Mr Shortman, this is a surprise. I didn't expect you today. I was actually planning on calling you later in the week – we have your results. Can we talk privately?"

"Hi Dr Morgan," Arnold suddenly looked anxious and hopeful. Helga noticed him clench his fists in his lap. Wolfgang also sat straighter, apparently holding his breath. "No, it's ok. Wolfgang can hear this."

"I see. Well, I'm sorry to say that you're not a match for Francesca." Both boys hung their heads, their shoulders slumped in disappointment. The doctor continued. "I know this is disappointing, but even if you _had_ been a match, we couldn't allow you to donate until you turned seventeen. I hope that you'll consider signing on to the bone marrow registry then. Perhaps you could help someone else."

"Sure, Doctor, I'll do that. Thanks for letting me know." With a final, sympathetic smile, the doctor left to deal with other business, approaching several of the parents in the room. Arnold and Wolfgang were left alone, both looking despondent.

"I'm sorry, Wolfgang, I really hoped…" Arnold's voice was heavy with disappointment.

"It's cool, man, we knew it was a major long shot. You won't turn seventeen for, like, practically a whole year, and Franny… She might not even…" Wolfgang trailed off with a small cough. Helga thought that seeing his eyes brim with tears, eyes that had always looked down at her with menace, was an almost alien sight. Almost as alien as the aching sympathy she felt for her once-hated bully. He wiped his eyes with the back of his massive hand.

"You already did us a huge solid, bringing all these toys. Tell the other guys that donated that I owe them one – I promise not to toss them in a trashcan, heh! Although I gotta say, I don't appreciate you lying to me."

Arnold's mouth opened and raised an eyebrow in confusion at Wolfgang's accusation. But almost instantly the other boy broke into a booming laugh.

"These sandwiches are _awesome_!"

As Arnold joined in the laughter, Helga felt the nudge of the spirit's elbow.

"Grab a hold. It's time to move on."

As Helga complied, her eyes sought out Francesca, now deeply engaged with a large jigsaw, her small face pinched in concentration. Helga's heart broke as she drank in the sight, realising that this first encounter with the girl could easily be her last. And so there her gaze stayed, as the room began to spin.

Until the very end.

* * *

 **A/N I know I'm taking some liberties with the age of consent for bone marrow donation - I realised too late that the US and UK have different policies.**


	11. Christmas Present - Part 4

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 4 – Christmas Present (Part 4)**

' _Déjà vu…_ '

Perhaps it was the fresh memory of the previous party, where Arnold had finally returned her feelings. Perhaps Rhonda, as a hostess, could never help but design each of her soirees around her own, signature tastes. In any case, it was instantly clear to Helga that a Lloyd party would always be a Lloyd party. Much like Rhonda herself, the event had simply grown. The Lloyd mansion, Helga knew, stood slightly apart from the rest of Hillwood, just barely looking down over the clamouring city. A day earlier, Helga might have snarked at the analogy, given her long-established notions of the elitist 'Princess' Rhondaloid. Her vision of the Lloyd's own Christmas, however, left her questioning her harsh judgement. But regardless of the Lloyd family's attitude to their fellow man, their taste in decoration was still unashamedly opulent. The room in which Helga found herself was, under normal circumstances, a lounge, though its dimensions approached that of the chamber in which she first met the spirit. Today, however, the space had been converted into a luxurious winter grotto for the occasion, somehow achieving a blend of winter forest and five-star chateau. Even the high ceiling was liberally strewn with dangling, glittering crystals, filling the home with the illusion of twinkling snowfall. Through an enormous pair of bay windows, Helga could see that night had now fallen, and actual snow had once again begun to coat the city.

The crowd that had gathered in the room was also familiar, for the most part. She sought out the faces of the P.S.118 gang, interspersed with a small number of significant others and newer friends, people Helga had never before taken the care or attention to notice. She could tell that this was a small and intimate gathering to celebrate the day with those closest; a far larger and louder celebration, Rhonda's forte, would likely follow, perhaps for New Year. It was a strange sensation for Helga, having seen her classmates as children so recently, only to see them now as young men and women approaching adulthood. All were dressed smartly, the Christmas touches to their outfits now far more subtle. Most sat lounging in front of the fireplace, now a gleaming dark marble, laughing heartily and sipping (or in a few cases slurping) at glasses of warm, spiced punch. Only Gerald and Phoebe still stood, clinging tightly to one another. Their eyes were closed as they swayed to soft music, the rest of the world apparently a distant afterthought.

"We all know that you're a darling, Arnold, but why on _Earth_ would you invite her to dinner?"

Rhonda's snooty tone was tinged with genuine exasperation, her hand on her hips.

"And don't say 'because it's Christmas' or you'll make us all barf!" Harold chimed in with characteristic bluntness.

"I don't know. I guess this time of year just makes me remember the way she used to be. I don't think I really expected her to come; I just wanted her to know she was welcome somewhere if she…" Arnold trailed off.

"If she deigned to step out of her ice palace!" Gerald suddenly chimed in from across the room, causing Phoebe to look up to him with sad eyes, though she remained silent. The rest of the room murmured in agreement.

"I reckon it's a darn shame." Stinky drawled as he stretched out his long, thin legs. "What's the harm in joinin' in? Doesn't make no sense to me for her to skip out on a good time just to be spiteful." More nods and murmurs of agreement followed as people agreed with this observation.

"Look, we ALL wish Helga hadn't turned into such a… well, you know." Rhonda offered, Harold mumbling a 'You bet I know' as he absentmindedly rubbed his jaw. "But we all tried to reach her, and she shot down each and every one of us. And nowadays she's even _worse_! So yes, it's a shame, but like Stinky said, she's the one missing out on good company. And fabulous parties."

"Well said, my dear." At this, Helga noticed for the first time that Rhonda sat hip-to-hip with an unusually calm and refined-looking Curly, who placed a confident hand on her shoulder. His other hand, strangely, was gently trembling, and an odd white hood poked out from beneath his jacket. Her mind was otherwise busy processing the conversation she had just heard. It had almost sounded as though, in spite of everything, at least some of the old group missed her.

"Well, she did make it pretty clear that she didn't care about the season, so maybe she's at least happy doing whatever she's doing today." Arnold offered, seeking a silver lining.

"Still always looking on the bright side, buddy?" Gerald joked from the side-lines.

"SOMEONE HAS TO!" Every other voice in the group responded before Arnold could himself, his trademark response having become an inside joke over the years. Even Helga, she suddenly realised, had quietly joined in. Arnold simply crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, a smile on his face as he reclined in his chair, while the rest of the room burst into laughter.

That laughter suddenly died as a shrill beeping began to emanate from a watch on Curly's wrist. Nervous tension filled the group as those sitting on the floor hurried to squeeze awkwardly onto one of the already-full sofas, many tucking their legs tightly to their bodies. Gerald clutched Phoebe even more closely, and backed the two of them against a nearby wall. Helga raised an eyebrow at the display, watching as Curly stared pleadingly at Rhonda, his eyes wide and desperate. He seemed to be slightly vibrating. Rhonda, for her part, simply checked her own elegant wristwatch, her face calm, before giving a small nod.

"Eleven o'clock. Very good darling - go have fun."

With a high cackle, Curly instantly shot to his feet and tore off his clothes, revealing a full-body polar bear onesie. Grabbing Rhonda's cheeks, he delivered an enormous, passionate kiss, before pulling up the hood (a polar bear head, of course), bounding frantically around the group on all fours, and rushing out of the room. The front door opened, then slammed, as Curly fled into the snowy night.

" _Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus, right down Santa Claus Lane!_ "

The stunned silence in the room was broken only by the tinny voice of a cheap, dancing Santa on the mantlepiece, it's plastic hips shaking in response to Curly's brief, manic proximity. Helga slowly turned her face, her eyes wide and her eyebrows raised, to the spirit next to her. The spirit, looking equally shocked, gave a small shrug.

Eventually Rhonda gave a small cough, blushing gently as she kneeled down to gather and fold her boyfriend's discarded clothes.

"On Thanksgiving he jumped out of the window… Shall we play a game?"

This suggestion was met with agreement from certain members of the group, the ones more accustomed to Curly, as they slowly recovered from the outburst. Sid, now retaking his former place on the floor, quickly pulled out a now very old and battered box of cards.

"Our little tradition, Rhonda?" He gave a cheeky grin and wiggled his eyebrows, nudging his head towards the now mercifully-silent Santa. Rhonda simply sighed, and consented with a nod as he readied a card.

"Red."

"Wrong again!" He victoriously revealed the queen of spades. "Looks like you've got your little buddy for another year!"

Rhonda pouted, giving the ugly doll a sideways look, as the rest of the room chuckled. Harold, laughing louder than most, gave Sid a hearty slap on the back. As the smaller boy was jolted forward, the whole room saw two cards fall from his hand; one black, one red. As one, they turned to Rhonda, her face instantly becoming pale and tight with rage.

"Sidney," her voice was horrifyingly sweet and calm, her unblinking eyes locked on his, "on how many of the _seven Christmases_ that I've had that repulsive doll in my living room have you cheated?"

"Not many…" Sid's voice was tiny and panicked; he seemed to be trying to retreat into his sweater like a frightened tortoise. "Five." he finally revealed, his face sheepish.

"GRAAAAHH!"

Sid barely had time to release a small shriek of his own and scramble from his seated position as he was set upon by a livid Rhonda Wellington Lloyd. As she watched the frantic chase, which quickly escalated beyond their current room, Helga found herself joining the crowd in roaring laughter; she had almost forgotten, in fact, that she was not truly present, such was her enjoyment of the party. Gerald and Phoebe, eager to avoid being trampled, took the now-vacant spaces their friends had left.

"How about twenty question guys? I've got a good one!" Gerald offered, pleased to be off his feet. The group agreed, and the questioning started.

"Is it a mineral?" Sheena's current boyfriend, a tanned young man with long, blond dreadlocks, began.

"Nope."

"An animal?"

"Oh, _hell_ yes!" Gerald's grin widened.

"Does it live in the city?" This question came from Patty.

" _Hates_ to be anywhere else."

"It's a kitty!" Harold's wasted guess was met with chastising shushes from the other players.

"Nu-uh. Guess again."

"Can you pet it?" Harold tried to regain some ground.

"Not if you want to keep your fingers." Gerald seemed to laugh at the idea.

"A pig?" Asked Eugene. "Sorry Arnold!" he continued, at his friend's offended 'HEY!'

"No, not a pig."

"Is it an insect? Or an arachnid? Or a…" Nadine was cut off by her friends before she could get further carried away.

"Two guesses, both no's!"

"Is it dangerous?" asked Arnold.

"Ohh, extremely." Gerald gave a comical shudder.

"Is it a predator?" Arnold pressed on.

"Most definitely."

"A monitor lizard?" Both Helga (getting caught again in the moment) and Arnold asked at the same time.

"The hell? No, not a monitor lizard…" Gerald could never have known where that idea came from.

"Does it have a thick coat?" Stinky continued.

"Sure, in winter, but it has no problem being cold." Gerald laughed at his own hint.

"It's… not that Curly guy is it?" a girl Helga did not recognise asked nervously, eliciting a small laugh from the room.

"You're closer, but nope." Gerald looked like he could barely contain himself.

"A polar bear!?" Harold asked, wide eyed.

"How many polar bears live in the city pink boy!?" Helga retorted, barely aware anymore that no-one could hear her.

"No Harold, not a polar bear…" Gerald wearily answered his friend.

"So it's a cold, dangerous, predatory, city-dwelling animal that no-one would want to touch. Not a bug, lizard or cat. Or a polar bear. Or Curly…" Lorenzo mused, struggling to resist the urge to start searching for answers on his cell phone.

"Oh, for heaven's sake Gerald." Phoebe, silent until now, finally interjected. "It's Helga!"

"You got it!" Gerald leaned back, bursting with laughter. Many of the group joined him, a small few giving only a light chuckle. Only Phoebe and Arnold remained silent, both looking uncomfortable.

Helga was snapped back into the reality of the situation. As much as she had been enjoying the party, she was, by her own hand, an outsider looking in. The laughter emanating from the group that might have been her friends, if only, served as a stark reminder of who they saw her as. Or rather, who she had undeniably been for so long. Their opinion of her laid bare, she found herself wondering how she ever convinced herself that she did not care.

"…ought to make you _eat_ it!"

Rhonda stormed back into the room, still admonishing Sid, who trailed behind her, somehow covered in flour. Apparently, the chase has progressed through the kitchen.

"Fine, I'm _sorry_!" Sid begged. "I'll take it away – you'll never have to see or hear it again."

Seeming to agree, Rhonda approached the Santa doll, still standing in its proud place at the centre of the mantlepiece.

" _Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus…_ "

Rhonda paused as the doll began its little routine, and tilted her head. After a moment, she spun to point a finger at the nervous boy.

"No! He's going to stay right there. As a… reminder of what a jerk you are, Sid! Humph."

And so, the doll remained, looking quite at home.

Helga felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning to face the spirit, she recoiled at the sight. Her face, once young and vibrant, was now that of a wrinkled old woman. Her long, curled hair was grey, and the hand that lay on Helga's shoulder was wizened. Her eyes, however, still shone with life, and her wide smile was as present as ever.

"Boo!" The ghost gave a warm, unashamed laugh at Helga's shock. "It's time to go."

Without waiting for a response, their surroundings distorted one final time. They now found themselves quite alone in a cavernous chamber. Helga realised, after a moment, that this was the room in which she and the spirit had first met, though it now lay stark and empty. The food was gone, perhaps consumed, and the fireplace now held only a flickering ember.

"You're… old." Helga was too confused to make the statement less blunt.

"Ah, yet another thing that's relative." The spirit waved a finger in Helga's direction. "My time in the world is very brief, yes. My life ends tonight. I'm not old, Honey – I'm complete."

"You _die_ after Christmas!? That's a load of crap! You can't just be _ok_ with that!" The realisation hit Helga hard. This was beyond her understanding.

"I'd like to think you've learned a lot today, but which one of those lessons do you think is most important right now?"

Helga thought back to their journey, and all that the spirit had shown her. Her mind quickly landed on the image of a terribly sick, yet extremely happy little girl.

"That a lifetime… isn't measured in length."

"And a short life is no less valuable." The ghost seemed to radiate pride as she finished the lesson. "I have _loved_ my life, Helga. Every single second of it, and every person in it. I've loved you and your friends and their families. The children at the hospital. Everyone in the _world_ who cared to know me. And I've used the time I had to make all of their lives a little better, if I do say so myself." She added a youthful wink. "My single day of life has been fuller than the decades-long existence of any lonely, bitter person. I made sure of it! And I am very, very happy."

As she spoke, the spirit turned and walked to the fireplace, growing to a larger height as she returned her horn to its place above. As she stretched, lifting her arms, Helga gasped as she saw something bony and wretched beneath her long robe, poking out from between her feet. And even those still-bare feet, now wrinkled and aged, could never possibly look so vile. Further questions on the spirit's short life flew from Helga's mind at the sight.

"There's something in your robe. Another foot? What the heck _is_ that?" Helga was too focused on this oddity to consider whether the question was tactful. As the spirit turned back to her, Helga could see that her face had returned its unnaturally solemn state.

"You saw that, huh?" The spirit seemed, for the first time that night, hesitant and unsure. "I thought maybe I wouldn't show you. You seem to have done ok without this, but maybe it's for the best. It's so important that you understand…" She let out a sigh. "Look here."

The spirit raised her robe, parting it at her legs and revealing her knees. Helga could not contain the small, horrified whine that escaped her lips. Clinging to the spirit's legs were two hunched, skeletal figures. The size of children, perhaps, but no; these were ghouls, their skin taught and grey, dressed in dismal, festering rags. Their hair was also grey, and filthy, clumps missing and the remainder sparse and patchy. One, perhaps a boy for his hair was shorter and his scrawny chest was bare, glowered at Helga with sharp eyes filled with cold malice. His back was curved, his shoulders raised, like a beast preparing to strike out, and he gnashed a set of large, yellowing teeth. The other, presumably a girl for her long, stringy hair and covered body, stared at Helga with wide, pale, sunken eyes filled with pure, utter hunger. Her face was gaunt beyond belief. The fingers of one hand dug sharply into the flesh of the spirit's leg, while the other stretched outwards, grasping and clawing towards Helga's repulsed form. Despite this, the thing held her body tightly, almost fearfully, to her host. Both creatures growled and hissed incoherently. Neither of them could be, should ever be human.

"Are they…" Helga gulped, trying and failing to find her voice in the face of her revulsion. "Are they your family?"

"They are the burden of my family, but in fact, they're man's. Born of man, nourished by man. The boy is Ignorance. The girl is Want. Don't look away."

Helga, who had been on the brink of averting her eyes, reluctantly continued to stare at the monstrosities.

"Never look away from them. Never deny their existence. Every year, the girl grows stronger; those in need still cry in pain and those that want for nothing find no satisfaction in their greed. Want never seems to be undone by abundance…" The spirit seemed saddened, silent for a moment before continuing, her face strict. "But beware the boy most of all; he's more dangerous than you can imagine. Be mindful of him, because he's in a million places in a million shapes. Never let him touch you - fight him, if you have to. Anyone who doesn't is doomed in more ways than one. Look at both of them, right here and now. Take all the disgust I see on your face, keep it with you and _remember_ it!"

With a final, resolute sigh, and to Helga's immense relief, the spirit closed her robe once more. The fiendish things were hidden, though Helga would never, ever forget that they were there. As the ghost approached once more, Helga thought her body seemed more aged than ever.

"One minute to midnight." The ghost mused. "Maybe I'm biased, but can you think of one better day to live than Christmas?"

Helga was at a loss, the spirit's joke wasted on her. All of her wit had been buried in the sad knowledge that this bright spirit, from whom she had learned so much, would be gone.

"I, uh, I wish you could stay." Helga flatly admitted, her eyes starting to prickle once more with unwelcome tears.

" _That_ , Honey, is exactly the point!" The spirit's Cheshire grin seemed wider than ever, as she began to sway on the spot, shaking her hips.

"Does your granny always tell ya, that the old songs are the best? Then she's up and rock 'n' rollin' with the rest!"

Helga let out something between a laugh, a gasp and a sob, smiling as she started dancing in time with the spirit's own smooth movements. Together, they sang the chorus.

"So here it is, _MERRY CHRISTMAS_ , everybody's havin' fun. Look to the future now, it's only just begu-u-un!"

Helga performed a final spin, as the spirit gave a jubilant laugh of approval and a distant bell tolled.

And Helga was alone.


	12. Christmas Yet to Come - Part 1

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 5 – Christmas Yet to Come (Part 1)**

The room was dim, the fire virtually extinguished. Helga found herself instinctively drawing closer to the dull embers and the feeble light they offered. Her mind had been overwhelmed by what had just transpired; the sight of the grotesque creatures, and the departure of the cheerful, laughing ghost. The room was colder for her absence. Helga held herself tightly, inhaling deep, determined breaths to calm her nerves as the distant bell continued to toll. She was Helga G. Pataki, and she was not afraid. The sound of the bell was strange; far away in a direction Helga could not pinpoint. She was wise enough to know, by this stage of her strange ordeal, what was heralded by that ringing.

The final spirit, at the last stroke of twelve.

As the bell produced its final, sonorous clang (and did that last chime sound closer?), Helga's breath stopped, her ears and eyes straining for any trace of her next visitor. She was keenly aware of the shock she had suffered from each of her previous guests. For a moment, she detected nothing; no strange lights or unexpected sounds, none of the bizarre fanfare of the other ghosts. And then her eyes were drawn to her own shadow; long and thin from the low light of the fading fire, and far darker and more vivid than it should have been for such a meagre flame. Helga watched in frozen, mute horror as the shadow contorted and stretched. The silent, dark mass extended, further and further until it hit upon the opposing wall, crawling slowly up the new surface. Without a sound, a figure emerged. The new entity was shrouded, barely visible in the half-light of the chamber, but Helga could see that it was cloaked in pure, absolute black. There was no face, no eyes, no sign of life within that cloak's deep hood. As the figure rose to its full height, unfurling itself as it stepped further from the confines of the shadow, Helga saw only a single feature revealed; a bone-thin, stone grey hand, its fingers spindly and long. When it finally began to approach, it's steps utterly soundless on the wooden floor, Helga gulped as she felt invisible eyes boring into her own, searching her. She was transfixed – she dreaded the thought of seeing those eyes.

"W-who are you?" Helga finally found her voice to ask. The spirit gave no response. "Look, you're obviously the ghost behind door number three. I know you're here to help me, or whatever. I know all this crap is for my own good. So, how about you just tell me who you are and what you're here to show me?"

The ghost remained silent. Fuelled by her fear, Helga's temper began to flare.

"C'mon, are you _deaf_? Are you _stupid_? Say something!"

Still no response. The spirit was still, and yet Helga felt its eyes burning into her even more intensely. Her anger faltered, and Helga sought a different approach.

"Fine… I'm no stranger to a monologue." Helga crossed her arms, trying her hardest to appear confident despite the gnawing, nervous stress she felt in this creature's presence. "And I can pretty much guess anyway. The talking movie projector showed me the past, then the next one showed me the present. Not a stretch to say you're here to show me the future."

At last, the spirit responded, a shift in its hood suggesting an inclination of its head. Helga, relieved as she was to get even this small reaction, felt her unease rise further at the thought of seeing herself in years to come. This was puzzling to her. After all, she had imagined her future as a bright and proud one – a strong, fierce, independent woman who needed no-one. Who had absolutely no-one…

"Well, ok then. Now we're getting somewhere. I want this nightmare to end, so if you're not gonna talk then just lead the way so I can get this over with." Helga finished, with a childish huff.

The spirit slowly extended its hand, its long grey finger stretching out in the direction of a shadowy corner of the room. The darkness there seemed to deepen and congeal into a roiling vortex, flickering outlines and muffled voices reaching out from the other side. Steeling herself, the spirit beside her, Helga resolutely strode forwards. As the shadows spread around her, the dim visions behind them becoming clearer, she was struck by the sudden sensation of falling; the sharp, horrible, lurching rush in the pit of the stomach that startles men, women and children alike to frightened alertness as they lie in their beds. As is its custom, the feeling vanished just as abruptly. Helga found herself once more on the streets of Hillwood.

The scene around her was a far cry from the white and cheerful display shown to her by the Ghost of Christmas Present, though the setting was the same. Helga stood outside Green Meats, its sign having peeled and faded somewhat in the unknown time that had passed. It was still the Christmas season, if the decorated windows of nearby homes were any indication, but the sky was grey and drizzling, and the air itself seemed foreboding and wet. Helga felt the cold for the first time that night, the moist breeze seeping into her bones and chilling her from the inside out. Or was she simply feeling what her mind expected to feel when in so dreary of a place? The voices, she found, came from three men who had gathered outside of the store. One leaned against the wall, a protruding belly covered by a sparkling white apron. A butcher, perhaps, though he was not Mr Green. A white hat sat on his wide, shaven head. The second, the shortest by far, sucked on a cigarette with desperation, inhaling the burning heat in an effort to stave off the winter cold. Damp, black, shoulder-length hair fell down below a green beanie hat, and he wrapped a long leather jacket around himself tightly. The third loomed above the other two, his lean frame looking as though it should snap in the wind, and yet he faced the cold in a plaid shirt and suspenders, his sleeves rolled up to reveal toned arms, demonstrating a resolute hardiness to the elements. His hair was slicked back, his chin was covered in light stubble, and a pair of square-framed glasses perched on his large, protruding nose. All three looked miserable, their faces etched with anger and something Helga could not quite place. Grief?

' _I know those guys…_ ' Helga finally identified the three, far more grown than the young men she knew now, but recognisable all the same.

"You promised you was gonna quit, Sid." Even as a grown man, Stinky would apparently never lose his drawl.

"I'm _cold_ , and I'm _pissed_ , and I needed a cigarette. Several actually…" Sid's tone was more bitter than Helga had heard throughout his childhood. He glared balefully at the half-smoked cigarette in his hand, before tossing in into the road. For a while they were quiet, not meeting each other's eyes.

"What time's the burial?" Harold eventually asked.

"One o'clock tomorrow."

Awkward silence resumed. An unsaid question seemed to hang in the air.

"You guys gonna go see her?" By the way Sid and Harold's eyes shot to him, it was clear that Stinky had addressed the elephant in the room.

"Like hell. I'd be surprised if anybody bothered going there. Not that she'd want them to." Harold's voice was filled with disgust. Helga wondered, briefly, who could have hurt him so badly.

"I might go." Sid muttered, wincing at Harold's enraged 'WHAT?'. "It's not like I could stand her... It just seems like the right thing to do."

"Huh." Harold regained his composure. "You sound like Arnold."

"Hey, _no-one's_ that nice." Sid have a half-smile. "But my point still stands."

Stinky, since asking his question, had seemed even more deeply concerned, almost lost in thought as he absentmindedly wiped a drip of moisture from his nose.

"I'm not sure myself. I'm confused. I ain't never wished ill on nobody before, but after what she did…" He frowned in contemplation. "Are we all just supposed to forgive her?"

"Tell you what Stinks, if you want to go to her funeral, when the time comes, _then_ I'll come see her with you." The other men raised eyebrows at Harold's strange reverse of attitude "If there's a free _lunch_!" Harold continued, before lapsing into his obnoxious, trademark cackle. Sid gave an insincere chuckle, while Stinky simply looked uncomfortable; neither seemed to find the joke in good taste.

Helga was repulsed, though she knew she was in no position to judge another for a callous remark anymore. Someone had died, that much was clear, but the disdain each man held for this poor soul was clearly greater than she could comprehend. Even their dislike of her, she felt, was not that strong. And they all still seemed so youthful, not beyond their mid-twenties – surely Helga could not die so young. No, they must certainly have been talking about someone else. Helga felt a wave of gloom as a single, unfamiliar thought crossed her mind before she could consciously stop it.

' _Who could be worse than me?_ '

"Who are they talking about?" She addressed the spirit in a small voice. She was almost grateful when no response came. "This is the lesson, right? Whoever this person is, she kicked the bucket and nobody cares. Everyone still hates her. And when I die, I guess it'll be the exact same thing. Is that it?"

The spirit said nothing, though its hood seemed to incline more towards her, as if regarding her carefully.

"Well, no. I don't believe it. Surely there's someone, _anyone_ , who feels some sympathy for her." Helga was desperately looking for a glimmer of hope. Any sign that this woman, who she could so easily become, was not universally despised. "Show me that!"

The spirit, silent as ever, once again reached out its hand. Shadows swirled around the pair, obscuring the three men, until the light returned and Helga found herself in an unfamiliar home. The place was warm and welcoming, and Helga immediately recognised the hints of Japanese style that she had come to know from sleepovers at the Heyerdahl residence. The walls were liberally hung with images of a familiar, smiling couple, and in one case a proudly-framed doctorate. Someone was crying. The ghost wordlessly extended its pointing hand in the direction of the noise, urging Helga onward. Upon approaching, Helga quickly recognised Phoebe Heyerdahl, though her jet-black hair was longer and her face older, but never before had Helga seen her former best friend weeping. It had been an unspoken secret, she felt, that only a few people including herself had known; that tiny, quiet, demure Phoebe was so unshakingly strong. She was a monument of control, and now she was shaking with grief. A tall, athletic-looking man was holding her tightly. It took Helga a moment longer to recognise Gerald; perhaps it was his entry into the world of work that spurred him to finally fell his pillar of hair, and he now wore it in a short, if still fashionable style. His own eyes were filled with tears, and Helga saw the elegant silver bands on each of their ring fingers as they clung to each other. Apparently, at some point in the not-too-distant future, Phoebe would realise both of her dreams and become Doctor Phoebe Johanssen.

"Babe, I can't go see her. _Please_ don't ask me to go see her." Gerald was pleading with his wife.

"Gerald, please!" Phoebe's voice was equally filled with desperation. "I know that you didn't like her. _No-one_ liked her! And that's precisely why I'm so apprehensive – I hate the thought of her being all alone! I'm so afraid that she'll be lying there by herself and _nobody_ will come to be with her." The notion seemed to fill Phoebe with fresh anguish, and her tears resumed.

Gerald seemed to be struggling to contain himself, as if the dismay he was showing was only the surface of something deeper.

"You're right, I hated her. I still hate her! I'm not made of stone Pheebs, you can't have a best friend like mine without picking up a few things, but after everything she did I can't bear to see her. I'm sorry, but I'm not going."

Phoebe tensed up, taking a shuddering breath as her sadness was overcome by frustration, at least for the time being. She pushed her husband away.

"Well _she_ was _my_ best friend once! And you can deny it if you want, but she used to be _your_ friend too! Do whatever you want Gerald, but I'll be there for her."

As Phoebe stormed out of the room, leaving Gerald to fall despondent into a nearby chair with his head in his hands, Helga's heart seemed to have frozen solid. ' _Her best friend? Oh God…_ '

"They ARE talking about me, aren't they!?" She wheeled round to address the spirit, now looming behind her and staring onward with cold detachment. "Is that the punchline here? That I die young and no-one cares? Why would you even show me this? Why..?"

She trailed off, the hard-learned lesson of the previous spirit returning to her mind.

"A lifetime isn't measured in length." She spoke quietly to herself, her life until now quickly flashing through her mind. Every hope and every regret, the latter more abundant for the last day than she ever thought possible. With a sigh, she once again addressed the spirit. She felt strangely calm, her tone was level.

"Is that why all of this is happening? Because I'm only going to live for another, what, ten years? Is that why I'm getting this stupid morality crash course? Huh. And here I was having such a fun time."

She regarded the spirit for a short while, its grey hand hanging loosely by its side, its long index finger always slightly pointing. She wished it would give her something resembling a reaction.

"F-fine then. So, I guess it's my funeral tomorrow. Was that someone's idea of a joke? Bury the Grinch at Christmas?" She was thoughtful for a moment before continuing. "Can't you show me at least some, I don't know, _tenderness_? A little _compassion_? You're dropping kind of a bomb on me here!"

Finally, a response; the spirit's hood gave another slight inclination, and its hand once again stretched outwards. The shadows returned.

"Thanks ever so much…" Helga muttered, her arms once again folded and her tone understandably bitter.

When the shadows cleared, Helga realised that she finally stood in a familiar boarding house. The room was decorated in a style far flung from the restrained and elegant Lloyd home. Instead, bright tinsel and streamers clashed brilliantly around the room as if every corner had been covered independently of the others. The only uniform decoration, strangely was an abundance of crudely drawn paper hand-turkeys, which were pinned to every wall; Christmas, as presented by Gertie Shortman. The dinner table in the middle of the room was surrounded by clamouring bodies, as huge bowls of potatoes and vegetables were passed to and fro. The loud conversations, a combination of joking, shouting, and several exclamations of "Kokoshka, ya bum!", merged together into one great, indecipherable din. Sitting at the table, surrounded by family, was a football-headed young man.

Helga was hesitant on realising her surroundings, unsure of her feelings towards seeing Arnold's reaction to her death. Would he be grieving? Would that be something she could bear to see? Or even worse, would he brush off her demise with the same bitter callousness as his friends. She realised quickly, however, that something was different now to her other visions of the future. The Arnold in front of her was, more-or-less, the Arnold she knew now; an adolescent rather than a man. She glanced at the ghost, which stood as unreadable as ever, and wondered what the point was of a disjointed jump to the less-distant future. It was only then that she noticed the two unusual figures at the table, alongside Arnold; a huge young man with short, blond hair and a middle-aged woman, her hair shoulder-length and grey. Wolfgang was easy to recognise, having seen him so recently. Helga saw his resemblance to his mother as they sat side-by-side. Both of them were smiling, enjoying their meal, but Helga could see the sadness etched behind their eyes. Wolfgang, in particular, seemed a different man to the one in the hospital. His roguish grin was absent, his current smile seemed restrained.

"Do you think you'll keep volunteering at the hospital? I can't imagine it's easy being there anymore…" Arnold's question was hesitant, as though afraid to bring up the topic. Wolfgang shook his head, his eyes fixed to his plate.

"Nah. It reminds me of her too much, you know." Wolfgang's mother placed a loving hand on his shoulder as Arnold nodded sadly, his face understanding. Helga knew, then, why she was here.

' _Francesca…_ '

"I've actually been talking to a couple of people." Wolfgang continued, finally meeting Arnold's eye. "There's this cool psychologist, she's been helping me work through some stuff about, uh, about losing Franny. Helping me with the anger, you know? And the school guidance councillor's been helping me too. He tells me that my record's kind of a mess from the old days, but since I never got arrested or anything and since I've been volunteering for a while, I've got options. I could probably go to college if I keep my grades up, or I was thinking I might enlist."

Arnold had been listening to this, nodding, a small smile growing on his face. He watched as Wolfgang's mother, teary eyed, hugged her son, telling him how proud she was of the man he was becoming.

"That's awesome, Wolfgang. I know you'll do great, whatever you decide. I think Franny would feel the same – she was always proud of you."

Wolfgang responded with a slight laugh, his smile taking on a tone of it's old, crooked edge.

"Yeah. Yeah she would. Little string bean made me feel like I could do anything. Here's to her?"

With that, he raised his glass. His mother and Arnold joined him in a quiet, solemn toast in honour of a sorely missed little girl.

The conversation was slightly too much for Helga, who moved away to sit in a nearby empty chair, thinking about Francesca, Wolfgang, and her own life. The spirit stood over her, as if it were her own, looming shadow.

"So, she didn't make it." Helga spoke quietly. She had hoped so strongly, when she had left the girl, that the Ghost of Christmas Present would be wrong. "She made an impact though, for such a little kid. And with so little time. Just by being her, I guess."

She looked at the spirit, felt those eyes watching her intently.

"I get what you're saying." She mused. "I could do it too. Make the world a better place, all that junk. Maybe be a little better myself? I figured, when people leave, they're gone. But she's not, is she? 'Cause she left her mark on people. From the way Gerald and those guys were talking, I guess I leave a pretty crappy mark, huh? I don't know if I can change that much."

Thinking back to what she had seen, the faces of the men filled with disdain as they spoke of her, Helga was filled with a growing, morbid curiosity. What mark would she leave? Would anyone miss her? Would anyone even go to her funeral, or would Phoebe be sitting alone? She had to know. She hated that she had to know. She hoped that she could make her next request with a steady voice.

"Ok. Can we go see the funeral?"

The ghost did not hesitate, lifting its hand as Helga rose to her feet. She took a deep breath, and tried to convince herself that she was ready. She wondered, suddenly, if the service would be open casket. Whether she would see her own lifeless body. But, before she could act on this horrible realisation, the shadows began to swirl.

'This can't be right.'

Helga had expected to find herself at a small service, when the shadows cleared. She thought that Phoebe, and perhaps her own family, would be sitting otherwise alone as Helga G. Pataki was laid to rest. What she found was a mob. It seemed as though all of Hillwood had clamoured into the cemetery, mourning faces stretching out as far as Helga could see. They were familiar faces too, if ones Helga had not seen in quite some time, many now touched with age. Faces from around the neighbourhood; Mr Green, Mr Bailey, Harvey the mailman, the Wittenbergs, and was that the mayor? The list went on. Mr Simmons, now entirely bald, wept openly on the shoulder of his partner, whom Helga dimly remembered from a long-ago thanksgiving. She even saw Wolfgang, looking clean cut and stronger than ever in a spotless military uniform. The limited seats, in front of what Helga realised was a mercifully-closed coffin, were filled by many of her old classmates, all dressed in sombre black. Some chairs had even been occupied by the boarders and (Helga was gratified to see) Mai Huynh.

"I can't believe it." Helga spoke to the ghost while still scanning the crowd. "Everyone's here. Did Phoebe and Arnold convince them to come? Actually, where is..?"

Before the could finish, the crowd fell silent as a minister stepped forward to begin the service.

"Dear friends, we are gathered here today to pay tribute to the life of Arnold Phillip Shortman."


	13. Christmas Yet to Come - Part 2

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 5 – Christmas Yet to Come (Part 2)**

Helga's world went fuzzy, as though she had been concussed. Her view of the tearful crowd blurred, and the minister's words were drowned out by a terrible ringing in her ears, all while every ounce of blood in her body seemed to rush to her head. Her mind was burning.

This was wrong.

This had to be wrong.

Her knees began to shake, not for the first time during this journey but far, far more intensely than she had ever before experienced. She grabbed at the back of a nearby chair, desperately trying to support her weakening legs, and slammed her eyes shut tightly as she fought to keep herself from hyperventilating. Nothing in her life, until now, had brought Helga G. Pataki to the brink of a panic attack; no family argument, no accidentally-dropped clue to her 'deepest, darkest secret', not discovering Miriam's broken body. Not even the assumption of her own premature death. In the face of stress and adversity, she reacted. In the face of a problem, she made the problem go away. And now, every drop of her control was slipping – Helga was frozen, body and mind.

A sudden change in the light caused Helga to force her eyes open. Even in her barely-conscious state, she jolted to find the hooded ghost inches away from her. Looming over her. Hunched as she was, the spirit seemed to block out the sun, its ominous presence dominating her world. Its arm had risen again, its ashen hand pointing unwaveringly towards the ceremony, commanding her to look. Helga knew it was right. She needed to know how this happened. Her classmate's faces were still young; she recognised Harold, Stinky and Sid, appearing as they had the previous day, though now each was dressed in a dark, formal suit. This was the burial they had discussed. Helga needed to understand. She knew better, by this point, than to waste energy by screaming at the spirit for answers. Instead, she lowered herself gently to her knees and focussed all her concentration on getting her breathing under control. After several deep, slow breaths, her heart began to slow, and her hearing started to return. She turned her attention back to the minister, who had been delivering his sermon throughout all this, and tried to take in what he was saying. She stayed on the ground as she did so, still clutching the chair so tightly that her knuckles were white; she did not trust herself to stand.

"The tragedy of loss is never greater than when someone is taken from us before their time. That so very, very many people have joined together today in their grief for Arnold is testament to the gravity of the loss we face now. I did not know Arnold. It seems I may have been one of the few people in this city who did not know him. But in the short time since his passing, I have been told tales from all corners of the incredible man he was, and the impact that he had on everyone here, and so I know that my words alone could never do justice to his character. Therefore, please now give your attention to Mr Gerald Johanssen, who has kindly offered to share a eulogy."

As the minister concluded, Helga saw movement in the front row. There was Gerald, his head bowed. His wife was next to him, their hands tightly interwoven and their earlier fight apparently forgotten. As he rose to his feet, pausing to take a determined breath before moving to where the minister stood, Phoebe's hand stayed with him for as long as it could. Gerald had no script, ever the storyteller, and he cleared his throat as he addressed the crowd. But he was unable conceal the waver in his usually-confident voice.

"When we were little, it wound up being my job to keep the 'legends' of Hillwood. To tell all the tales. It seems like every week we'd be following those stories to some mysterious cave or looking for some mythical ghost. I guess we were all so busy being kids that we didn't really notice that we had a new legend growing up right there with us." His sad gaze wandered, briefly, to the coffin beside him. Helga noticed for the first time that the area behind it was arrayed with a huge abundance of flowers, wreaths and bouquets; enough to make a small part of the cemetery look like a botanical garden.

"Arnold was… The man was supernatural. Before he was ten years-old, he was out there mending relationships and solving every problem he came across. Our _bold_ kid. We'd laugh at him, tease him, call him a busybody, and then the next thing you knew we'd be banging on his door begging for his help! Even adults. They came to _him_ to fix their problems – a preteen kid! How is that normal!? And he _never_ refused, even if it sucked for him. It was like he couldn't stop himself, like it was his God-given mission to be some kind of guardian angel. Even if people took advantage of him, or hurt him, he'd just somehow bounce back and be 'Mr Brightside' again before we knew it." Helga felt a particular sting at that last comment. How much pain had she caused him over the years? "And that's just it. Arnold was _always_ there! Whatever you were going through, you could depend on him. No matter how out of control things got, he was the universal constant. It never once occurred to us that he'd ever change, or not be there for anyone who needed him. We never thought he'd be g-gone." Gerald gasped and wiped his eyes. He was struggling to stay in control, though he hid it well.

"When I was coming up with this speech, I thought I'd be rattling off some list of all the times that Arnold came through for me, and everything he did for me. I mean, the man taught me how to ride a bike!" That drew a few tearful laughs from the P.S.118 faces as they relived the memory. "But I couldn't do it. It was too much, too often. He was my brother. And that got me thinking about something that I'm going to ask everyone here to do now. I want you to look back to the times Arnold helped you, or was there for you, even if it was just once." A ripple of sobs, hums and murmurs rippled through the crowd as they looked back. Gerald gave them a moment before he continued. "Now think about all the times he asked for something in return."

The crowd was silent.

"I couldn't think of anything. He didn't expect payback. All he ever asked me to do was trust him, or to look on the bright side, or help him with one of his 'save the day' schemes. And I usually would, whether I liked it or not, because Arnold could be _so damn convincing_ at getting people to do the right thing."

' _God, he's right…_ ' Helga remembered the times Arnold had somehow persuaded her to overcome her bent moral compass. Nobody else, not even Phoebe, had been able to change her mind once it had been set. And to think, she had been proud of herself for finally being 'strong' enough to ignore him. She had been hanging on Gerald's every word, along with every other mourner. Unlike them, though, she was waiting for one specific piece of information. Something she needed to know with every fibre of her being.

' _How did he die?_ '

"When this happened, when Arnold was taken from us, I was _so_ angry. I know we all were."

' _Just tell me how he died._ ' Helga had finally risen to her feet, her grip on the chair somehow even tighter.

"I wanted to just hate and lash out at how unfair it was, for that to happen to someone I loved so much. _Especially_ someone like Arnold!" Gerald's eyes were watering now. He was breaking.

' _Give me a hint. Give me a clue. Anything!_ ' Helga's breath was rising again, her panic being swallowed by old, familiar anger.

"But even now, every time it feels like I'm going to break, I hear him telling me 'it was an accident, it was no-one's fault', and I realise that the last thing Arnold would ever want is for anyone to hate because of him. Especially at Christmas – he loved this time of year so much."

"TELL ME HOW HE DIED!" Helga was not sure when she had started marching to the front, but she now stood screaming in Gerald's face. Her eyes and his were both filled with tears; they finally had something in common.

"So instead of thinking about how his life ended, I'm going to keep thinking about my friend as he was. Running back and forth being everyone's hero, then chilling on an _awesome_ flip-out couch with jazz music playing in the background. And if I ever feel that way in the future, about anything, I know Arnold's still going to be there to keep me right…"

Gerald finally trailed off. There was no closing line, no snappy conclusion. He simply ran out of words. After several moments of silence, the mourners offered a respectful applause as the minister returned to relieve Gerald of his duty. Helga was left unsatisfied. As the service continued, her mind had started to race. An accident; Gerald had mentioned an accident. When faced with a problem, Helga G. Pataki made the problem go away.

"I won't let this happen." She addressed the spirit with firm certainty; her mind was set. "I don't know what you're trying to pull, but this can't be set in stone. Arnold _can't_ die, you understand me? I won't _let_ him!"

The spirit's hood shifted – a slight tilt of the head – as it looked down on her. Helga's stomach churned. She needed to know more about what had happened. She needed to understand the accident if she wanted to prevent it, but the thought of watching Arnold die was more than she dared to bear.

"I need to know more. I don't want to see the accident, _please_ don't make me see that, but you have to give me something. I need more information, anything I can use." Helga did not want to beg, but she would if she had to. It had taken all of her control not to grasp the spirit's robes as she pleaded – the idea of touching the ominous figure repulsed her.

She was, in all honesty, shocked when the spirit complied. As the pointing hand rose and the shadows gathered, Helga found herself gazing at the coffin. She would do whatever it took.

' _Not again…_ '

For the second time, Helga found herself in a white hospital corridor. The hall was quiet, however, and the lights were low. The end of the day. Here and there, coughs and heavy breathing sounded out from the rooms to either side of her, accompanied by the odd beep and whir of unknown machinery. The air was horribly still. As she looked at the spirit, though it was as implacable as ever, Helga shuddered at how perfectly it matched the morose and foreboding setting. Its finger pointed down the clinical hallway, to where two lone figures stood, apparently immersed in quiet conversation. Helga moved towards them, wincing at every sound that pierced the silence. Her mouth was dry, and she wondered why the spirit had brought her here. She hoped, desperately, that she would not see Arnold on his deathbed.

The figures, it emerged, were two men; a nurse and a janitor. They glanced around now and then as they conversed, their voices hushed, as if the topic were somehow scandalous. They had gathered outside of what Helga assumed was a small, single room at the bottom of the ward.

"So anyway, this guy's basically a saint. Kind of a local hero, I've been told. I saw him all the time back when I worked at the kids' hospital across town." The nurse was whispering. "He volunteered for a while, all the kids loved him, and he had this tradition where he'd bring a bunch of donated gifts for them on Christmas. He used to joke that he'd dress as Santa if his head wasn't a weird shape."

' _Arnold…_ ' He had seemed so proud of his new seasonal tradition. Was he lying in that room?

"So, a couple of days ago he's doing his usual thing. Bunch of toys crammed into this ancient Packard he used to drive. Then _bam_ , he gets t-boned at an intersection. They rushed him in here, but he was DOA. I barely recognised the guy…"

' _So that's how it happened._ ' Helga slumped against the wall. Gerald had been right; it was unfair. Of all the ways for him to die, of all the things he could have been doing. Where was the justice in that?

"So, what's that got to do with her?" The janitor, who had been listening aghast to the story, jerked his head towards the room.

"She's the one that hit him. She was way over the limit, so maybe she just didn't see the stop sign but… Yeah. Poor guy didn't stand a chance. And the irony is, she was touch-and-go for a while, but she's going to be fine once she wakes up."

Helga's eyes went wide. Some woman murdered Arnold, and she was lying in that room, her whole life ahead of her. Hate started to course her.

"When this is over, I'm gonna find her and I'm gonna _tear her_ _apart_!" She seethed, to no-one in particular.

"Why's it ironic? I mean sure, she made a mistake, but-" The conversation continued.

"That's just it," the nurse cut his friend off, "apparently she's a grade-A ice queen. She's had ONE visitor since she's been here. I hear no-one else could stand her."

"Really? No other family or friends? She seems pretty young to have nobody." The janitor shocked as he was, seemed equally full of pity.

"Yeah, what can I tell you? Only one who came was Doc Johanssen from neurology."

At this, an approaching doctor caused the conversation to end, the men to separate.

But Helga felt as though she had been shot.

"No." She turned to the spirit, her eyes wide, her rage dissipated in an instant. The spirit raised its hand, pointing towards the door.

"I can't go in there. I don't _want_ to go in there. Take me home!" But the spirit did not comply. It stood, fixed and unmoving, its bony finger firmly pointing the only way out. Helga's mind was swirling with everything she had heard. Everything that had left her so sure of who's funeral she had been about to see.

' _If you want to go to her funeral, when the time comes,_ then _I'll come see her with you._ '

' _I ain't never wished ill on nobody before, but after what she did…_ '

' _After everything she did I can't bear to see her!_ '

' _I'm afraid that she'll be lying there by herself and_ nobody _will come to be with her!_ '

In her shock at Arnold's death, she had forgotten all about the future of Helga G. Pataki.

She had not been at the funeral.

The spirit offered no other recourse. Helga could see that she had no choice but to look, though even the notion of attending her own funeral never filled her with so much sickening dread. She turned to face the door, trying to ignore the spirit's constant, unwavering gaze. She suspected, now, the shrouded figure's true nature. She reached forward with a trembling hand, feeling a dull spark of alarm when the cool plastic moved at her touch. Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, she stepped forward.

In a strange way, Helga was grateful that the curtain had not been drawn around the small bed. To merely step into the room had taken every trace of her nerve. And the bed was certainly occupied, the patient's steady, shallow breaths and the ticking of a lone wall clock being all that broke the stony silence. The woman who lay there seemed small and frail, though a blanket concealed her from the chest down. Her arms still bore heavy gashes and bruises from the trauma that had placed her here. Her skin, wherever there were no bruises, seemed almost grey. Her face, pocked and scarred here and there from the same trauma, seemed swollen, and the closed eyes were sunken and etched with sickly purple. The blonde hair, which splayed behind her head, was matted and greasy. Helga's stomach fought to revolt as she numbly walked to the foot of that bed, looking down on it as if it were her own tombstone. Her movements were limp, almost robotic, each being forced through sheer determination. The patient's name was written there, on a hanging chart, amongst a messy swathe of other medical notes.

'HELGA G. PATAKI'

She had been colliding with Arnold for as long as she could remember. She reacted now.

Helga's whole body shook violently. One hand went to her mouth, while the other grasped at the bedrail to support her once-again failing legs. Much as she wanted to scream, no sound could escape her lips. Her empty stomach heaved. She could do nothing but stare disbelievingly at the unconscious figure before her. The spirit, its ghoulish presence overshadowing the room, now stood at the woman's side, terribly close to her prone form, as if it were her very own awful shadow.

"Helga G. Pataki…" Helga spoke the words of the chart as though they were her own epitaph, finally finding her voice. She glared at the woman with pure, unadulterated hate. "You killed him… You _murdered_ him, you awful, unforgivable bitch. _I_ murdered him. Oh God, I murdered him…" She hung her head, the soft tears that fell not doing justice to the grief coursing through her. She turned her head to the spirit.

"I'm not going to let this happen. You think I'm dumb? None of this would make any sense if this godawful future was inevitable. It _can't_ be set in stone – I'm right, aren't I?" The spirit was as unmoving as ever. Helga pressed on, still brimming with tears.

"I'm not _her_ anymore!" She gestured wildly to the prone woman. "That's what you want to hear, isn't it? Well, congratulations, job well done! I'll change! And if a person changes, their future's got to change too! It _has_ to! Damn it, tell me I'm right!" She was quickly becoming frantic.

Still silent, the spirit moved towards her, stepping away from the woman to tower over Helga. Its eyes seemed to burn into her more intensely than ever, and its outstretched hand pointed directly to her, but fear was far from Helga's mind now.

"You and the others wouldn't have put me through this if there was no hope. I won't believe that; I know you're here to _help_ me!" Helga did not shy away from the spirit, closing the distance between them with steely resolve, though her face was pleading. "I swear I won't forget. I won't forget anything any of you have taught me. I won't push people away anymore! I won't ignore the past or waste the present. I'll make sure the future is better… Just please, _please_ , tell me I'm right! _Tell me!_ "

At this final shriek, and with sheer desperation, she lunged forward and grabbed at the folds of the spirit's robe. She wanted to shake the creature, shake it until it promised her that things could change. But the robes gave way to nothing. Helga fell forward, the soft material falling about her, until she landed harshly on the hard ground, encased once again in darkness.


	14. A New Chance - Part 1

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 6 – A New Chance (Part 1)**

Helga fought furiously against the restricting fabric, hearing it rip and tear as she rolled blindly on the ground. Finally loosing her arms, she tore the material from around her face and blinked in the light. The dark spirit was gone. Helga sat alone, panting, on the floor of her bedroom, still partially cocooned in the half-shredded remains of her duvet. Downy feathers still drifted through the air in response to her frantic efforts to escape, catching the bright light that now shone in from the window. Her cheeks were still soaked from tears.

"I'm home…" Helga looked around, wide eyed, her earlier adrenaline dissipating and leaving her body momentarily numb, her face blank.

"I'M HOME!" Her face split into the widest grin it had experienced in years – the Ghost of Christmas Present would have been proud – and she rapidly wriggled the rest of her body from its bindings, leaping unsteadily to her feet in a giddy rush. Stumbling to her open closet, she darted to the small stepladder; the area above was as small and empty as it had been before her adventure, the enormous chamber was nowhere to be seen.

"I'm back! It's over! No more freakin' ghosts!" Helga cheered rapidly to herself as she returned to dance around her room, almost delirious with glee. Suddenly she stopped dead. "Did I dream all that..? _No!_ No, even I'm not that crazy." She began to pace, her hands behind her back and her face deep in concentration. "It was real. It all happened, and there is _no way_ in Hell that I'm letting the future turn out like that! You hear me?!" She shouted to no-one, addressing the empty room. "You want a better Helga, you're gonna _get_ a better Helga – just you watch! That football-headed little shrimp is gonna live to be a hundred, because _I'm_ going to make sure of it, you got that?! I'll make everything better. I swear I'll make everything better…" Helga trailed off, her eyes drifting to the bright window, and a fresh thought suddenly made her chuckle.

"I have no idea what day it is." She wandered to look outside as she mused. Below, the snow lay on the ground as crisp and thick as during her time with the second Christmas spirit. Checking her phone, she found that the device had died at some earlier time. ' _How long have I been gone?_ ' This thought spurred her into action as she finally threw open her door and darted from the bedroom. Heading downstairs and charging into the trophy room, she had never been so relieved to find her father still lying in his chair, dead to the world as he snored loudly. A thin trail of drool ran from his wide-open mouth, and his latest soup stains now sat crusted onto his vest.

"BOB!" Helga's shout caused her father to jolt awake with an undignified snort. On seeing her, his eyes blurry and unfocussed from sleep, he leaned forward with a groan and rubbed his face with his large hands. His thick brow furrowed.

"Crimeny girl, are you trying to give me a heart attack?!" He grumbled, rising stiffly to his feet; Bob rarely left his chair, other than to make short trips to the kitchen or bathroom, and his joints clicked and creaked as he stretched.

"Never mind that, what day is?"

"What day? It's, uh…" Bob trailed off as he fished for his own cell phone and glanced at the small screen. "Friday, December the… Huh, whaddaya know – guess it's Christmas." He was quickly taken aback as, on hearing this, his daughter suddenly shot forward and grasped his vest. They were nose-to-nose, her eyes were huge and her mouth was agape.

"It's _Christmas_? You mean I haven't missed it? They did all that crap in just one night?" Bob was about to question his daughter's frantic rambling, when suddenly her face lit up with the happiest smile he had ever seen her show. With an elated 'Woo!', Helga threw her arms in the air, only to suddenly close the small gap and cast them around her father, grasping him in a tight hug. "MERRY CHRISTMAS, Dad!"

For a moment, Bob froze, his hands hanging limply at his sides and his face contorted in confusion. But after a few short seconds, he lifted his arms to gently and clumsily return the hug.

"Yeah, uh, merry Christmas. You feeling ok, girl?"

His words snapped Helga out of her reverie, causing her to sharply realise what she was doing. Jumping back slightly, she blushed and nervously tapped her fingers together.

"FINE! Yep, totally, one-hundred-percent, A-okay here Bob. Just, uh, embracing the holiday spirit?" she tried, grinning nervously and mentally facepalming herself at her own accidental 'spirit' pun. Shaking herself slightly, she pressed on. "And speaking of which, we've got a Christmas dinner to get to later. I want you showered, shaved and out of that gross vest – I swear, you've been wearing that thing since summer and it's starting to form an ecosystem!"

"Hey, hey, hey, easy on the attitude! And what do you mean dinner? You, uh… you didn't cook, did ya?" Bob face twisted in genuine apprehension, causing Helga to roll her eyes. Her hands went to her hips.

" _No_ , I didn't cook. We got invited to Arnold's house."

"Who, that kid you used to date? Thought he seemed to have a pretty good head on his shoulders." Bob was, apparently, oblivious to his own joke. "You two get back together or something?" Bob quirked part of his eyebrow and made a face that only Helga, as a fellow Pataki, could recognise as being mildly hopeful, if heavily veiled as indifference. She blushed furiously and looked away, taken aback by her father's rare show of interest. She sighed inwardly, mentally noting that no amount of Christmas magic or supernatural intervention could make a conversation between her and her father anything less than uncomfortable.

"No, _Bob_ , he just figured we might like something for Christmas dinner besides canned soup and crackers. So, unless you object to having an actual MEAL for a change, how about you quit standing there and get moving! Christmas only comes once a year, ya know?" With that, Helga fled from the awkward conversation and sprinted back up the stairs, eager to begin her Christmas. Bob was left standing in the trophy room, puzzling over his daughter's uncharacteristic behaviour. He looked at his chair, his small world for the longest time, and stooped to pick up the heavy, open photo album that sat beside it. His wife smiled brightly at him from a large, old picture.

"We have a strange kid, Miriam." Bob sighed, and laid the album gently back down. He looked back to the chair for a moment, before turning and heading for the stairs. A home-cooked Christmas dinner. That sounded nice.

As she readied herself to face the day, Helga felt lighter than she had in years. She found herself unconsciously humming Christmas songs as she showered, though she tried to fight back her elation enough to mentally organise her day. It was her first Christmas in quite some time, after all, and Helga G. Pataki was not one for half-measures.

Returning to her room, she tore into her closet, frowning at the multitude of dark clothes that she encountered; they no longer seemed to suit her. Helga felt bright today, and it took some time and effort to construct an outfit that showed it. As she checked herself in the mirror, her eyes were drawn to the reflection of an old winter coat, or more specifically to the tiny flash of pink jutting out from its pocket. The coat had been cast haphazardly aside, joining the dark clothes in a discarded pile; Helga felt a bitter taste form in her mouth as she remembered the last time she had worn it. Walking over, she extracted from its pocket a long, pink ribbon. She closed her eyes, remembering the soft warmth of the first spirit's hand as she allowed the silky material to flow between her fingers. Her bow had once been a connection to Arnold - now the ribbon could be a reminder of who she used to be, and was determined to be again. Undoing her ponytail, she slowly wove her hair into a single braid, the ribbon running through it. As she admired the new style, she dimly wondered whether the old coat would be thrown away, cut into pieces, or burned. She expected it would depend on her mood at the time.

Once she was dressed, her eyes fell to several large trunks that lay on the closet floor, tucked out of sight and out of mind. Each was full and heavy, and she cursed quietly as she pulled each into the centre of the room. Her eyes lit up as she opened each one and inspected the contents; toys. Toys, stuffed animals, games and puzzles, including a luxurious old doll house, filled each container. More-or-less every plaything from Helga's childhood. Few had seen much use, of course – she had preferred the baseball bat, or a football. For a brief moment, she thanked her lucky stars for her previous indifference; she had cared too little to even go to the effort of throwing the toys away. They had simply lain in storage, unacknowledged. Now, however, Helga viewed each box as a treasure trove. She grinned widely at the haul. ' _The kids will go nuts for this stuff! Thank God Bob never bothered to sell the Hummer._ ' Marching back into the hall, Helga was able to strongarm a deeply-confused and half-shaven Bob into helping her load the trunks into the large car. Her restricted driver's permit had been a closely-guarded secret; she had begun her lessons immediately on turning sixteen, seeing the ability to drive as a crucial step towards self-reliance, but had despised the idea of her classmates pestering her for rides (as if they would ever have dared). And so, with a car loaded like Santa's own sleigh, Helga set off in the direction of Hillwood Children's Hospital.

Many of the streets were covered in a thick coat of snow, carved here and there with the treads of the few tyres that had passed before, though the gritters had been hard at work making the main roads safe and passable. Helga was not a nervous driver by nature. In fact, as one may imagine, her greatest issue had always been road rage. Today, however, she was more alert and careful than she had ever been, approaching every stop sign as though it might have exploded; she fought valiantly to prevent her mind from conjuring images of a broken, crumpled Packard until her journey was completed. The hospital's vast visitor carpark was virtually empty so early in the day; a mercy, as Helga brought her heavy load as close as possible to the entrance. Leaving the vehicle, she stepped quickly towards the warmth of the main reception, sharing a brief 'Merry Christmas' with an EMT, who stood smoking by the entrance. She approached the front desk.

"Uh, hi. I've got some toys and stuff that I want to donate."

The receptionist visibly brightened on hearing this.

"That's wonderful! We've had a lot of generosity this year – are you a friend of Arnold Shortman?"

"NO!" Helga coughed slightly, embarrassed by her outburst, but kudos had not been a part of the plan. "I mean, no, I'm just donating my stuff. Anonymously, you know?" The receptionist raised an eyebrow at this, but nodded in understanding before Helga continued. "Can someone help me? I've got three boxes in my car and they're kinda heavy."

"Sure, give me a minute and I'll call someone down to give you a hand."

With a thanks, and another 'Merry Christmas', Helga returned to the car and began the laborious task of extracting each crate. Even the lightest, however, gave her a little trouble until the EMT hurried over to offer a hand. Yesterday, Helga knew, she would have refused such assistance with a scowl, but the boxes were heavy, and the new Helga was grateful for the help. Once each had been unloaded, she finally looked at the EMT properly – he seemed familiar.

"You wouldn't happen to be studying to be a nurse, would you?" Helga finally placed the man, having seen his face, somewhat older, in a shadowy corridor. The EMT, for his part, blinked in surprise and furrowed his brow.

"Yeah, actually. The classes are killing me, but I'll get there. I hope… How'd you know that? Have we met?"

"Uh, nope. Nope. Just a guess, heh." Helga frantically shook her head – she knew she could never give an honest answer to that question. But then she looked at him with a sincere smile. "But you'll get there. Trust me."

The man opened his mouth, perhaps to continue his questioning, but he was cut off by a call from the entrance. The voice was familiar by now, causing Helga's shoulders to slump.

"Hey, front desk said you've got some gifts to donate? Wait, don't I know you?"

"Oh, _come on_!" she muttered under her breath, before turning to face Wolfgang. She was certain that she used to be good at doing things like this stealthily. ' _It's heavy lifting, doi – of course they sent the freaking Hulk!_ '

"No, I don't think so." Helga responded with a forced, toothy smile. "Just an anonymous donor, dropping off some presents." Wolfgang seemed to scrutinise her, seeing her for the first time in years.

"You sure? Did you used to have pigtails and a bow? You know a guy called Arnold?"

"NOPE!" Helga was becoming desperate. "Don't know any Arnolds, never had pigtails, and I've always had a crippling phobia of bows." She mentally facepalmed once again. "Uh, don't ask – too traumatic. We gonna move this stuff or what?"

Wolfgang seemed ready to press on with his inquisition, but his eyes widened when he saw the boxes.

"Wow, that's one heck of a haul! Thank you so much – the kids'll lose their minds!" He gave Helga one of his crooked grins. With the continued help of the EMT, each carrying one box, the three proceeded to lug the gifts to their destinations, Wolfgang giving Helga a hearty handshake and a 'Merry Christmas' before departing in, what Helga knew, was the direction of Oncology. Her thoughts returned to a particular little girl. She had not dared to consider this a part of 'the plan', there was no guarantee, but it was certainly an addendum. Helga could hope, after all. As she passed the front desk on her way out, she once again approached the receptionist, this time feeling nervous.

"Hi again. Just one more thing. I'm turning seventeen in March – can I ask about bone marrow donation?"


	15. A New Chance - Part 2

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 6 – A New Chance (Part 2)**

Helga sat at her bedroom desk, carefully scrutinising each and every sentence of the document in front of her.

Again.

She had returned from her visit to the children's hospital feeling lighter and more unburdened than she had felt in years (she imagined the car felt much the same way) and she had promptly retreated to her room to initiate Phase Two of her Christmas plan. A long-overdue apology for an unfailingly loyal friend. In truth, Helga had surprised herself; writing the report had barely taken an hour. A discussion of the portrayal of love in Romeo and Juliet – she hardly even needed to open the book. It made sense, when she thought about it – after all, memorising the script had once taken Helga a single night at the age of nine – but the words had flowed onto the page more quickly and easily than Helga could have hoped. As her pen had flown across the paper, she felt as though she was writing in another language, one in which she had been fluent but that had gone unused for years. That had been twenty-three minutes ago.

Since writing the final words, she had checked over her work seven times. She had then read the several pamphlets from the hospital, outlining the ins and outs of bone marrow donation, five times each. And now she had returned to the report for one final inspection.

Helga was stalling.

She had a growing, nagging feeling that the next steps would be the hardest. Her leg twitched rapidly and she chewed on her lower lip as her mind replayed scenes of their more recent interactions, and she grimaced at every memory of her neglect and thoughtlessness towards Phoebe Heyerdahl. Her only visitor. But it was the sight of the time, that finally caused her to will herself into motion. Christmas morning was passing quickly, and Helga was determined not to waste another second of it. She grabbed her hat, scarf and coat and made for the front door, her work stashed carefully in a binder under her arm. She had shouted a quick goodbye to Bob, determined to leave on this wave of momentum, but the surprise of hearing his reply was enough to make her stumble to a halt.

"Hey, wait a second! When the heck is this dinner happening anyway?"

' _Oh crimeny…_ ' Helga's eyes widened as Bob highlighted this small but crucial gap in her knowledge. ' _I got so caught up in everything that I never thought to check!_ '

Helga fished out her phone and stared at the screen. She realised, briefly and sadly, that her contact list did not hold Arnold's number, but it came as no surprise to her that she remembered it regardless. A day earlier, that might have annoyed her.

"I could call him…" she mused to herself, though she paled at the thought of an awkward phone conversation with another resident of the Sunset Arms. She made her decision. "I'm gonna go find out – I'll text you the time and see you there!" she shouted a response, barely registering Bob's grumbled reply. She would simply stop by the boarding house on her way to see Phoebe.

How hard could that be?

Wrapping her scarf tightly, Helga stepped out into the bright street. Without the task of delivering the toys, she finally allowed herself to breathe in deeply and embrace the day; a chilly breeze kissed her face and tousled her hair, and she relished the bracing, morning cold. The snow, she thought, looked serenely beautiful as it glowed in the sunlight, and her breath condensed in in front of her in a fine mist. As she began to walk, Helga grinned at the simple pleasure of the fresh powder crunching beneath her feet, and she lazily ran her gloved fingers along the low walls of passing stoops, sending their thick covering cascading to the ground. She absentmindedly moulded a snowball, tossing it back and forth between her hands, feeling as content and elated as a child. It was barely a conscious decision, being carried as she was by her cheery mood, but Helga found herself taking the slightly longer 'scenic' route to the boarding house, which would lead her past Mighty Pete. She heard the laughter from blocks away.

Helga had been certain of two things, as she walked this way, and both were quickly proven right. The grand, ancient tree known as Mighty Pete looked stunning, its colossal old branches heavy with snow and its trunk glistening with ice. And the entire street was a warzone. In the few hours since sunrise, the children of Hillwood had been hard at work shaping the snow to suit their needs, and now the area was littered with walls, fortresses and the occasional igloo (of dubious structural integrity). The children roared and screamed with laughter as they bombarded each other with missiles; the initial, frantic scramble had apparently evolved into a pitched battle between two sides for control of the famous treehouse. The defending team seemed to have established a system of buckets and pulleys to supply their allies in the 'castle' with fresh ammunition, and the attackers took cover as snow rained from above. Helga stood for a while, leaning against a nearby wall and laughing at the fun. She applauded each well-placed hit, and wistfully imagined the Ghost of Christmas Present dashing into the fray and cheering on both sides.

And then she was hit in the face.

Helga stood motionless for a moment, feeling the scattered snow instantly start to melt and drip into the confines of her clothing, prickling her with chills. Slowly, she lifted a hand to brush the stray flakes from around her eyes, her face level and her eyes trained in the direction of the attack. The children, for their part, ceased fire nervously, some shooting an accusatory look at one small boy in a blue bobbled hat. He seemed to be considering a hasty retreat – perhaps even the younger children of Hillwood knew of Helga G. Pataki. Slowly, Helga lowered herself to a squat, a predatory grin forming on her face and her eyes beginning to glint. She carefully placed her binder out of harms way, and began to gather thick handfuls of snow. Her gaze never left her attackers.

"THREE!"

The children jolted at her shout, many exchanging new, apprehensive looks.

"TWO!"

Helga straightened, one arm now laden with snowballs, each far larger than those made by the children's small hands. Their little eyes began to light up with understanding, and the quicker ones started to scramble for cover or fresh ammunition.

"ONE!"

She struggled not to laugh as the children squealed, many now armed and hidden, giggling behind the various snowy barricades that lined the street. With a final warcry, Helga charged forward.

" _Eat powder you little shrimps!_ "

And so began the epic battle of the Children of Hillwood versus Helga G. Pataki. Her assault was furious, and she laughed maniacally as she wove and dodged her way around many of the children's throws. She returned fire with deadly speed and accuracy. Helga was a one-woman army, and she was having more fun than she had had in years. Eventually, after fifteen long minutes of warfare, Helga was finally felled by a massive, organised bombardment from the children's treehouse leadership, leaving her lying breathless and giggling in the snow. As the odd snowball was still flung towards her prone form, she threw up her hands and shouted her surrender. The children released a huge cry of victory, as Helga rose to her feet and did her best to dust herself off. She recovered her binder and beat her own hasty retreat, her suspicions coming true as the original war quickly reignited behind her.

The fight had done wonders to calm Helga's nerves, but they returned full-force as the Sunset Arms came into view. She slowed almost to a stop, frantically continuing to brush away the coating of snow that covered her, fumbling to straighten her clothes and make herself presentable. She blushed as she passed the icy fire escape – she had become all-too familiar with that climb over the years; it felt like yet another old friend that she had neglected. Eventually, though, her legs carried her up the stoop and to the front door. A stream of insecurities flashed through her mind, each offering a new way for this meeting to be ruined. The milder ones featured Arnold taking back his offer and slamming the door in her face. The more extreme ones imagined the house to be empty, its residents deciding on a very last-minute trip to spend Christmas somewhere warm. Perhaps Fiji. She stood for a while, breathing deeply and trying to remember when her 'fight or flight' instincts had last been so strongly set to 'flight'. She knew, though, that she could not turn away – she had promised that much, and she meant it. Her mind focussed on a far-off funeral that she swore would never come, giving her the final surge of determination she needed to reach forward and knock.

She was decidedly relieved when a response came almost immediately, footsteps quickly approaching. Unfortunately Helga was out of practice, not to mention quite deep in concentration, and so it was only when the door began to open and she heard the frantic scrabbling that old instincts kicked in. Helga released a small 'eek' as she remembered, at the last instant, to throw herself to the side and avoid the deluge of animals that charged into the street. Three cats, two dogs, and a fat, old pig (wearing a green, hand-knitted sweater) bolted past her, the latter pausing for a moment to give a low squeal of greeting before charging away.

"Helga?"

Later, Helga would realise her mistake. She had, moments before, been fretfully visualising the coffin which had been Arnold's final resting place, mentally reaffirming her oath to change that dark outcome at any cost. Then an urban stampede had caused a large, sudden spike in her adrenaline, putting her on-edge. And now, Arnold himself stood at the open door in his pyjamas. His hair was, if possible, messier than ever, his face had lit up with a surprised grin, and he was completely, absolutely, alive in front of her. The outcome was inevitable.

"You came! Merry Christ-MMF!"

Arnold's eyes went wide, and his body froze; an understandable reaction as Helga had thrown herself forward, grasped his arms, and kissed him with enough force to nearly sent them both to the floor. Her own eyes were closed tightly, and her brow was furrowed in desperation. She was holding him with an iron grip, as if he might otherwise drift away. In an instant, however, her eyes shot open in horror and she propelled herself backwards, ending the kiss with a quiet 'smack'.

' _Crap, crap, CRAP!_ ' That had not been a part of the plan.

As they stared at each other, Helga's mind reeling with absolute panic, Arnold remained frozen, his still slightly-puckered lips releasing a tiny squeak.

"Uh… Merry Christmas?" Helga finally offered an anxious grin and a small shrug. Finally moving, Arnold wobbled slightly, as if he were about to topple, before catching himself and blinking furiously for a moment.

"What the _heck_?" He stared at Helga for a moment, as if trying to be certain she was both real and the person he thought she was. "Helga, did you just _FTi_ me!?"

' _Oh God, not again. Why me?_ ' Helga's mind seized up even more tightly as she realised that was precisely what she had done, and she fought for an excuse.

"I, uh, thought I saw mistletoe." Her first attempt fell flat as Arnold glanced above him, only to return his gaze with a look that screamed 'I am not convinced'.

"I ate some pork rinds, and now I'm sleepwalking?" She tried again, pleading. Arnold, however, simply crossed his arms and continued to stare.

Helga began to wave her hands.

"This is aaallll a dreeeaa-"

"Helga!" Arnold now looked slightly cross, though still mostly confused. Helga sighed, giving up, and settled for the more-or less honest approach.

"Ok! Ok…" She met his eyes, her own face earnest. "Look, I had a weird night that I can't really explain right now, but let's just say I had a really, _really_ bad dream. But I've woken up now, and I apparently needed to do that. I swear, I just came to ask what time you wanted me and Bob here for dinner. You know, if we're still…"

Arnold's seemed to untense a little on hearing this, though he still looked incredulous.

"Of course you're still invited Helga. Dinner's at two." His face finally returned to its familiar look of mild, genuine concern. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, I don't know what happened to shake you up this much, but do you want to come inside and talk about it? We've just made cocoa."

Helga had to smile at Arnold's offer of welcome, in spite of everything she had become until recently. It was only when she saw a strange look, perhaps of recognition, passing across Arnold's face that she realised how long it must have been since he had seen her genuinely smile. She stooped to grab her binder, dropped in the moment.

"Thanks, but I'm heading to Phoebe's right now. We'll… talk about this later, I promise. Ok, Football Head?"

Arnold finally gave a small smile on hearing her use his old nickname; it had been used as both an insult and a term of affection over the years, sometimes in the same conversation. Its meaning now was clear.

"Ok. But I'll hold you to that. Tell Phoebe I said hi, and we'll see you back here at two."

With a final nod and quick 'bye', Helga turned to leave, setting off back down the street. She made it around halfway before she realised that she had not heard the boarding house's heavy door close.

' _Is he watching me leave?_ ' Helga held back a mischievous grin and suddenly looked back over her shoulder. Arnold, who's head had been poking out around the corner of the doorway, gave a small jump. He made a quick, awkward half-wave, before rapidly vanishing into the house and slamming the door. As she kept walking, Helga once again may have broken her record for 'widest smile'.

' _There's hope!_ '


	16. A New Chance - Part 3

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 6 – A New Chance (Part 3)**

Helga walked the blocks to Phoebe's house on autopilot. Her mind was spinning over her short (and decidedly dramatic) interaction with Arnold. To a certain extent, she was at war with herself. She cursed her lapse in self-control, though even she could not be too hard on herself for that; it had been an emotional night, after all, and Helga was nothing if not passionate in one form or another. Still, Arnold knew nothing of what she had been through, and she dreaded to think of how bizarre and desperate she must have seemed. Perhaps he thought she had finally gone mad. She felt guilty for leaving so soon, but she knew she needed time to prepare for that particular conversation.

On the other hand, there was the kiss itself; Helga's heart had yet to slow down, and her nine year-old self was performing a joyful song and dance routine in her head. The surge of electricity Helga had felt when their lips touched was almost overwhelming, just like it always had been. As she tried to understand just how she spent the last several years not making it her mission to experience that feeling on a daily basis, Helga had a nasty suspicion that she had just fallen off some kind of wagon. Not to mention, the more she ran over the moment in her head, the more she was able to reassure herself that Arnold had looked neither repulsed nor truly angry. He had simply looked confused, and who could blame him? And he had watched her walking away. She was completely ecstatic.

Both sides considered, Helga wanted to float off into space and beat her head against a wall at the same time.

She finally managed to force these thoughts aside as she approached the Heyerdahl residence. Phoebe had never asked for much during her turbulent years as Helga Pataki's best friend, providing such patient comfort and understanding, and Helga had simply brushed her aside along with everyone else. She would spend years making that up to her, if allowed the chance, but at least this would be a start. The question facing Helga now was exactly how she would make this start, as she once again stood at someone's door with no clue what to say. In an odd way, she was incredibly excited, like a child who was about to see their friend for the first time in years. Helga had seen Phoebe almost every day, of course, but she was no longer that person. It made sense, really; whenever her young life had been touched with drama or excitement, the first (and often only) person to hear was Phoebe, even if it was in some secretive, roundabout way. And the last night had been exciting to say the least. If there was anyone that would hear the full story, it was her. Now that Helga was here, standing at her door, the old urge to rush to Phoebe's side and confide everything made her feel like she might explode.

With a strange, giddy smile of anticipation on her face, Helga rang the doorbell.

An answer took longer to come this time, and Helga started to worry at the idea of someone other than Phoebe coming to greet her, but eventually the sound of soft footsteps could be heard, and the door swung open. Unlike Arnold, Phoebe answered the door looking immaculate. Not a hair was out of place, and her bare feet poked out beneath a beautiful blue kimono, patterned with white flowers (perhaps her latest Christmas present). Also unlike Arnold, her face immediately bore a look of concern, her eyes going wide behind her large glasses.

"My goodness! Helga, this is so unexpected! Is everything alright?"

Helga's heart went out to her more than ever in that moment, at the genuine worry in her voice. She was saddened to think that their relationship had reached a point where the only a dire problem could lead to an unexpected visit. But that same realisation ignited an old spark of mischief that Helga found herself unable to resist. With all her concentration, she kept her face neutral, her smile concealed, and she folded her arms as she met Phoebe's eye.

' _Ohhh, Pheebs, don't hate me for this…_ '

"Well Phoebe, I came here to get some answers. Think you could help me out?"

"Answers?" Phoebe's look of concern turned to confusion. Glancing back in the direction of the hall, the smaller girl slipped on a nearby pair of shoes before stepping outside and pulling the door to, joining Helga on the snowy stoop. "I'm not certain what you mean. Answers about what?" Her eyes drifted to the binder now clutched in Helga's hand.

"Well, last I remember, we were meant to be working on this stupid English project together. Right?"

"Yes, Helga. But-" Phoebe hurried to respond.

"And I think I established yesterday that I couldn't _possibly_ give much of a contribution to a report about something as dumb as love. Hence forcing us to stay at the library till stupidly late." Helga continued, cutting her off.

"You made it abundantly clear that you felt you lacked the necessary… abilities?" Phoebe offered diplomatically, now looking worried.

"Hmm. And so, I believe I told you that I wanted you at my place bright and early, so _you_ could get it finished for us, isn't that right?" Helga began tapping her foot, while Phoebe just seemed slightly panicked.

"That's… correct. But you wanted me there _tomorrow_ – today is Christmas!"

"I'm very aware of that. But you DID agree to do it, didn't you?" Helga pressed on.

"Well, yes, but I don't see-"

"So, my question is this, Phoebe;" Helga leaned forward until they were nose to nose, "how have you not punched me in the face every day for the last thirteen years?!"

Phoebe's eyes widened again, and her jaw dropped in shock. Helga managed to keep her face level for several more seconds before breaking into a wide grin (that was actually starting to feel quite natural). Before the stupefied girl in front of her could respond, she came forward and wrapped her arms around her, bringing her in for a tight hug. Smiling as she was, Helga still felt the prickle of tears as she held the girl who had always been her best friend.

"Oh Pheebs, I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry! For last night, and for every other time in the last few years that I've been such a stupid, inexcusable jerk to you. I've been the biggest ass on the planet! All our lives you've been way more amazing and patient with me than I ever deserved, and I just…" Helga pulled back, shaking her head. Though she was still grinning madly, tears were flowing down her cheeks. ' _I must look like a raving lunatic!_ ' Phoebe's eyes too, seemed watery, though she had remained silent and no tears broke through. Helga knew all too well just what it would take to make Phoebe cry. Helga thrust the binder towards her.

"It's here, and it's all finished. You don't need to spend another second of your Christmas or any other day of this holiday worrying about it. I know it's not much in the way of a Christmas present after I missed all these years, but it beats novelty socks, right?" Helga gave a small, nervous laugh. "I want to make it all up to you. If you'll let me, that is. Oh, and, uh, merry Christmas!" Helga finally took a breath and waited for Phoebe to respond. Her eyes were pleading, and she fiddled nervously with her hands, as the smaller girl looked from her to the binder, then back again.

The crushing hug Helga received gave just a hint of how strong Phoebe Heyerdahl really was.

"I missed you!" Phoebe blurted out as if Helga were a long-lost friend returning from sea. Helga simply laughed once again, and returned the hug with gusto. After a short while, the girls broke apart.

"Helga, I'm truly ecstatic to hear you sounding like yourself again! I've been so worried! But I'm confused – whatever happened to bring all of this on?" Phoebe gazed at Helga questioningly for a moment, before her eyes widened and her hand shot to her mouth. "Oh, my goodness, did something happen with 'Ice Cream'?!"

For a moment, Helga blanked, until the true meaning of Phoebe's words caused her to giggle. Their childhood together seemed to flash before her eyes. ' _I guess some things never change._ '

"Not exactly. Let's just say I've had one hell of a night, and I want to tell you all about it." Helga suddenly became aware that she was imposing. "Wait, am I interrupting anything?"

"Not at all, we won't be eating until later this afternoon, and we exchanged gifts earlier this morning." Phoebe smiled eagerly and pushed open the door. "Come inside and tell me everything! I'm deeply curious to know exactly what's happened to make you so…" She trailed off in the middle of removing her shoes, either failing to find the word or finding the correct word distasteful.

"Un-bitchy?" Helga offered, a raised eyebrow and a smirk playing on her face. Phoebe blushed.

"Well, I wouldn't say THAT…" Phoebe protested as Helga followed her inside.

"Pheebs, you can say it, sing it and shout it from the rooftops. I'm kind of surprised no-one put it on a billboard yet, actually – I know for SURE someone scrawled it on the bathroom stalls at school. I've earned it! But, well, that's over now." Helga rubbed her arm awkwardly as she finished. Phoebe nodded, very familiar with how hard Helga found it to share her secrets until she felt comfortable, and led her to the kitchen. She prepared them both a hot drink, while Helga shared a greeting with Kyo and Reba Heyerdahl; the girl had once been a regular face in the house, given the frequency of their sleepovers, and she saw Helga blush as Reba rushed to give her yet another friendly hug. Politely excusing themselves, the girls headed to the privacy of Phoebe's bedroom, where Phoebe sat back and waited to hear Helga's story.

"Ok. So in the years we've known each other, you've seen me pretty much obsessively stalk the boy I liked, sleepwalk multiple blocks 'cause of eating the wrong snack, get temporary amnesia from a rogue baseball, and pretend to be completely _blind_ to trick said boy into paying attention to me. To name a few memorable examples, I mean." Helga watched as Phoebe nodded calmly, waiting for her to make her point. She pressed on. "Do you think I'm crazy? Like actual, diagnosable crazy?"

To her credit, Phoebe did not hesitate.

"I don't believe so, Helga. Granted, we've been somewhat distant over the last several years, but I always felt that you were simply a passionate person with an extremely active imagination and a mischievous side. Plus, two of those examples really weren't your fault, and Arnold rather asked for it with that silly, flashing box." She giggled then, at the old memory, before continuing. "Speaking medically, not that I'm an expert yet, I've never seen any sign of a deeper neurological malady. And neither did Dr Bliss, as I recall."

"Ok, good." Helga nodded enthusiastically, worried about what Phoebe would think next. "Keep thinking that. So, next question; do you believe in, um, ghosts?" The last word had been so quiet that, even in the otherwise-silent room, Phoebe barely heard. This time she did hesitate, blinking, if only for a few moments.

"Well… to be honest I've never really thought about it too much. I prefer to deal with matters that are in front of me, things that I can see, touch and process. I've never seen a ghost, despite all the hunts Gerald used to drag us on as children, but I suppose I'm not particularly against the idea of their existence." Phoebe responded, with a typically open mind.

"Well after last night Pheebs, you better believe I do."

And so, Helga commenced to unload the story of her long, strange night as Phoebe listened intently, taking great care to emphasise each and every speck of proof that left Helga herself certain that the experience was real. At some point, though Helga was too caught up in the tale to know exactly when, the girl had hastily grabbed a notepad and had begun to take small, frantic notes. She both smiled happily and frowned in sympathy as Helga spoke of reliving the key Christmases of her past. She laughed as Helga described the Ghost of Christmas Present (though she paled a little when Helga was able to describe, very accurately, the strawberry cake her family would be enjoying later). It was only when the third spirit was discussed that Helga became vague and cagey; nothing is more annoying than spoilers, after all, and the happy future of Dr Phoebe Johanssen was Helga's alone to know, for now. Helga also saw no need to frighten Phoebe with the darker aspects of that terrible time, given her pledge to change it at all costs, though Phoebe saw the fear behind her friend's eyes. It was simply made very, very clear that changes needed to be made.

"So," Helga took a breath as she concluded, "still think I'm not crazy, Pheebs?"

Phoebe's mouth was dry.

"I'm truly not sure what to think, Helga." She read through some of her own notes. "Occam's Razor would suggest that you experienced a deeply vivid and prolonged period of visual and auditory hallucination."

"Not to mention tactile and nasal." Helga interjected. "Guess I didn't really taste anything though…"

"That being said, everything you described was so incredibly meaningful. Not to mention accurate! Both would be necessary to inspire a change of the level you seem to have undergone. Knowing you as I do, and seeing you now…" Phoebe met Helga's eyes with a small smile, like a doctor reaching a diagnosis.

"I believe you." Her smile then quickly dropped, and an eyebrow raised. "But seriously, see a neurologist in the new year to be on the safe side."

Helga laughed good-naturedly at this, knowing Phoebe would drag her if she declined.

"You have my word, Pheebs." She crossed her heart, and Phoebe's smile returned.

"So now that you've rediscovered your Christmas spirit," Helga rolled her eyes at Phoebe's joke, suspecting by this point that it was born old, "what will you do with your day? Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"Thanks, but Arnold actually invited me and Bob to – oh shoot, hang on…" Helga quickly pulled out her phone to send a belated message to a doubtlessly grumbling Bob, letting know the time (and for good measure the address) of their dinner. In doing so, she failed to notice the sly expression appear on Phoebe's face.

"Something _did_ happen, didn't it?" Helga blushed at this and glanced away from her friend's piercing gaze. "Tell me, or else I'll start making jokes about you having Ice Cream for dessert!"

Helga pouted and folded her arms stubbornly. Apparently, in their time apart, Phoebe had become bolder; perhaps her boyfriend was rubbing off on her.

"Crimeny, it was nothing. I went by to check the time for dinner, and I saw that stupid, grinning football head of his for the first time since all this lunacy started, and I just got carried away in the, uh…" Helga trailed off with a small cough – she absolutely refused to say 'heat of the moment'.

Phoebe smiled and nodded. She said nothing further on the subject, knowing better than to push, but she could practically feel the hope radiating off her friend as she watched her replay the memory in her mind. It suited her.

What followed was a long and happy period of conversation, reminiscing and catching up between two best friends. Listening to Phoebe's life, and comparing it to her own, Helga realised more than ever how empty and stagnant her isolation had been. Eventually, though, two o'clock drew closer, and Helga saw fit to move on. She readied herself to leave, reapplying her layer of outdoor clothes.

"So, given your new feelings, do you think you'll attend Rhonda's party this evening?" Helga had been expecting Phoebe to ask, her earlier invite not forgotten. Until that moment, Helga herself had not been sure of her answer.

"…Yeah." She finally nodded her consent. "I figure if I'm gonna take a sledgehammer to the ice sculpture I've been for the past few years, what better place to do it that one of Rhondaloid's little gettogethers? Let's hope the princess doesn't just throw me out on my ass."

She finished getting ready, the two girls finalising their party arrangements. Finally, intending to offer her back her binder, Phoebe regarded the work with a tilted head and narrowed eyes.

"Helga, did you do all of this work yourself?"

"Uh, yeah. Guess I got my mojo back or something." Helga gave an embarrassed shrug.

"So, to make sure I'm fully understanding the situation, you did NOT, in fact, use ANY of the work that you made me stay at the library so late in order to finish? Until I nearly fell asleep at the table?" The smaller girl's hands were on her hips, and she gave Helga a dry look. Helga gulped, having neglected to realise that small detail.

"Boy, aren't you glad I won't be making you do THAT anymore?" She tried a small grin.

"Hmph. I _would_ be angry about that particular point," Phoebe suddenly returned Helga's grin. "but fortunately, my exhaustion was so terribly severe that Gerald saw fit to carry me most of the way home."

Relieved at being forgiven, a laughing Helga embraced Phoebe one final time before making her way to the door. She suspected that the new, less-icy Helga and the new, bolder Phoebe would get along just fine.


	17. A New Chance - Part 4

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 6 – A New Chance (Part 4)**

Reconnecting with Phoebe had left Helga feeling emboldened, and her thoughts were far calmer as she strode back in the direction of the Sunset Arms. The sun hung lower in the sky as afternoon marched onwards, and the streets were quiet. It seemed most of Hillwood had retreated to their homes to enjoy whatever dinner was to be found, or perhaps the children had finally been given parental orders to come in from the cold. Helga smiled at the warm, colourful lights that were strewn from so many of the windows, and felt her mouth start to water at the delicious, myriad scents of cooking that drifted here and there out into the street. She remembered the happy gatherings that she had witnessed with the second ghost, and warmed herself with the hope that such celebrations were going on behind every closed door she passed.

The idea of seeing Arnold, and sharing dinner with his family, no longer scared her. In fact, she was allowing herself to look forward to it. Arnold had reassured her that she was welcome, after all, and Phoebe (along with her parents) had shown her that friends could be forgiving. Of course, she was anxious about their inevitable talk – admittedly, a corner of her mind was busy generating increasingly wild excuses for her earlier outburst – but she swore to herself that she was more than done with pushing away the people that wanted to be in her life. She wanted them in her life too. Her thoughts drifted back to the Ghost of Christmas Past; she would accept these vulnerabilities, these cracks in her walls, and she would be stronger for it, with their help. Or at least, that was the theory. Somehow, Helga's best-laid plans and speeches tended to fly straight out the window when Arnold was concerned, and she had blown her chance of approaching him gently about her changed self with her less-than-subtle approach that morning. She reasoned that maybe this was better; she had jumped in at the deep end (or rather she had accidentally slipped off the diving board) and that made it harder to take a step back. She honestly doubted that Arnold would let her. In any case, a riotous meal with Arnold's manic household seemed an unlikely time for the opportunity for a quiet heart-to-heart. And then there was Bob; Helga prayed that she would not have to spend the next year apologising for her father's table manners. Sufficed to say, his presence put a firm pin in any meaningful discussions for the time being.

These thoughts carried Helga back to the boarding house door. She was a little early, perhaps due to a newfound spring in her step, but the prior nervousness was gone. Much as with Phoebe, she was simply excited to see everyone, if a little shy. All the same, Helga steeled herself as she knocked, decidedly eager to avoid a repeat of last time. As it turned out, she need not have worried.

" _Eleanor!_ "

The door had burst open. Before Helga had even been able to register the beaming, wrinkled face of Gertie Shortman, she had been yanked inside and lifted off the ground in a back-breaking hug. She wondered, as she heard a faint pop in her spine, who would win in a contest between Gertie and Wolfgang. She suspected there would be no survivors.

"Oh, Eleanor, it is just _wonderful_ to see you out conducting state business again! Between you and me, the President does his best, but he needs the First Lady to tell him what's what."

Helga gave a short, breathless laugh at Gertie's words. She never knew why she had become 'Eleanor Roosevelt' to Arnold's grandma, but the nickname had never died. She returned the hug as best she could, relieved to find that her arms still worked.

"Good to be back. Sorry that… business kept me away for so long. Merry Christmas!"

Gertie pulled away to meet her eyes, still smiling broadly. Helga noticed for the first time that she wore a large party hat, brightly coloured and topped with silver tinsel.

"Merry Christmas, dear. It really is wonderful to see you again; the old place hasn't been the same without you." If possible, the hold seemed to tighten.

' _Can't… breathe…_ '

Before Helga could respond (or pass out), a new voice cut in from inside the house.

"Darn it Pookie, put the poor girl down before you break her in half! This is why we never have company!" Phil appeared in the hallway, looking more wizened than ever but somehow just as spry, as Helga was finally lowered to the ground, taking a deep breath. ' _What do you know, my legs still work too. Bonus._ ' The old man regarded her with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, hello there. Are you collecting for charity? Sorry, but our grandson already has us covered on that front. Try the place two doors down – I always had a suspicion they were loaded." For the first time, Helga frowned in concern – had it really been that long since Arnold's grandpa had seen her. Perhaps senility was finally kicking in.

"It's Helga. Helga Pataki? Arnold invited us to dinner."

"Helga, eh?" Phil rubbed his chin, seemingly deep in thought, but Helga felt a spark of relief at the mischievous twinkle finally showing in his eyes. After a moment he snapped his fingers. " _Oh_ , that's right, Arnold's little friend Helga!" he broke into his own crooked, slightly toothless grin. "Sorry about that – guess I didn't recognise ya without the pigtails and the one eyebrow!"

Helga narrowed her eyes, returning his expression with a sly smile of her own. He had got her, but she could still retaliate.

"No worries Phil, age does terrible things to eyesight. I actually didn't recognise you from the front either; usually I'd just see you running away to your 'office'." Her comment caused Phil to burst into a fit of cackling laughter.

"Now _there's_ the girl I remember! Pookie's right – this dusty old dump wasn't the same without your sass! Merry Christmas, it's great to see you." Suddenly his face became flat. "Now Arnold told us your blowhard old man was coming too, so we made an extra half dozen bowls of potatoes and reinforced one of the chairs. Plus, we've got Abner all trussed up and ready to roast in case of emergencies."

Helga considered this for a while, rubbing her chin much as Phil had done.

"Well, his appetite isn't what it used to be, but eating a real meal for once might reignite the fire." She met Phil's eyes, her own face grave. "We can't be too careful – start basting the pig."

Her comment was met with a low squeal and a soft bump at her legs. Startled, Helga looked down to once again see an old pig in a green sweater, his eyes looking up to her with worry. Apparently, Abner knew perfectly well what time to come home for dinner scraps. Helga bit her lip guiltily at his heartbroken expression.

"I didn't mean it! But maybe stay away from Bob – he can't be trusted."

Abner responded with a grunt before wandering away in the direction of the kitchen, as Gertie finally pushed the door closed. With the cold air cut off, Helga was reminded of how warm and welcoming the very air of the boarding house always seemed (outside of the dusty air vents, of course). She also noticed, for the first time, the aromas of roasting meat and spices that seemed to fill the place. Her stomach gave a loud rumble, and Helga became aware that, focussed as she was on her Christmas plan, she had not eaten since her cereal the night before. Suddenly, Helga wondered if her father was really the one who would be making a pig of himself at dinner.

"Oh, sounds like the rations can't come too soon!" Gertie gave her own cackle as Helga's face flushed. "You'd better go make yourself comfortable, dear, dinner won't be long."

With that, Helga accompanied Phil towards the living room, while Gertie vanished towards the kitchen. A welcoming fire burned in the hearth, and a tree took up the far corner, its modest size more than made up for in its wildly bright decoration. Another corner was occupied by a small piano, itself adorned with blinking red lights, and the rest of the room was heavily hung with tinsel and streamers.

"HELGA!"

Helga started at the outburst, which resembled something from a sitcom, as every face in the room turned to her, and almost every voice cried out happily. She blushed once again as the boarders clamoured to greet her, with one exception.

"Oooh, she actually came! Now I will never get enough to eat!" Oskar's mournful sulking was more-or-less drowned out by the activity now filling the room.

Helga had gotten along well with each of the boarders in one way or another. She shared a dark sense of humour, a love of large-scale demolition, and a closely guarded romantic side with Ernie Potts, who once spent a strange evening with her discussing sculpting techniques – he favoured chiselled rock, while she preferred a hand-made approach. She had bonded with Suzie Kokoshka over her ability to keep Oskar in line, and had once secretly (on pain of a gruesome death) passed on the name of an extremely good mixed dance studio on the other side of Hillwood that Suzie still attended regularly. Oskar himself she had tolerated, though she had occasionally felt a begrudging respect for the man's ability to come out on top in the sneakiest way possible. And then, of course, there was Mr Huynh. Much as Arnold had been blown away by Helga's actions seven Christmases ago, Mr Huynh was equally, if not more, amazed by her role in reuniting his small family. Since then, the man had treated Helga like royalty, which frankly left her younger self uncomfortable at times from the fawning attention. Regardless, seeing the gratitude in his eyes had always filled Helga with warmth. Each now rushed to either hug her or shake her hand, except for Oskar, who eventually managed a wave and a small, sincere smile. She wondered where Arnold could be.

"Alright ya pack of animals, back off and give the girl some room to breathe!" Phil fought off the small horde before turning back to Helga. "Now, full disclosure, we say dinner's at two but it'll actually be a little late. Depends on just how long it takes the short man to fix whatever monstrosity Pookie's cooked up in there, so don't hold your breath." His words made Helga's eyebrows raise in surprise.

" _Arnold's_ making dinner?"

"More like… assisting." Her question was answered by a new voice from behind her, in the direction of the door she had just entered. She turned to see Arnold, grinning sheepishly, now dressed and wearing a baby pink apron that had been liberally dotted and splashed with flour and sauces. A large smear of flour had also found its way onto his face; Helga wondered if he knew, and immediately decided not to tell him regardless.

"Seriously, Football Head?" Helga eyed him with a smirk, hoping that she had succeeded in hiding just how cute she thought he looked at that moment. "When did you get all domestic?"

"Since _someone_ ," Arnold shot a glare towards Ernie, who stared shame-facedly at the floor, "decided to get my grandma a book on surviving in the wild as a joke birthday present. Now she tries to season all her cooking with whatever she finds growing out of the cracks in the street, and Mrs. Vitello has threatened to take out a restraining order." Helga's hand shot to her mouth to suppress a harsh burst of laughter.

"Well I'll try not to judge the meal too harshly Arnoldo, but if you give me food poisoning then we're gonna have a problem."

"There'll be no need for that, I promise!" Arnold laughed and raised his hands in mock defence. "Like I said, I'm just the sous-chef. Grandma still makes a mean turkey and stuffing so long as I switch out whatever green stuff she picks for actual sage. I'm just on vegetables and dessert today – hopefully they'll be up to your high standards." He finished with a cheeky grin.

"Don't listen, Arnold's cooking is terrible and probably very poisonous." Oskar suddenly chimed in. "You should just be safe and let me eat your portion for you, heh heh."

"Oh yeah? Then why do you set up camp at the table a full hour before dinner whenever the kid cooks, ya greedy rat?" Ernie quickly shot back in Arnold's defence.

"I want to save as many lives as I can! And it's your fault anyway – our stomachs had adjusted to the old woman's food before you made her start cooking with horrible grass!"

The rest of the room shared weary glances as the customary bickering between Ernie and Oskar continued, with Mr Huynh grumbling how glad he was that next year was his turn to spend Christmas with Mai and her family. Helga compared the unruly scene, in her mind, to her last few Christmases; sitting peacefully at home alone with only the television, a book or homework to keep her company. She knew which was better in a heartbeat.

"Eh, don't listen to those crazies Arnold." Phil gave his grandson a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "You're one mean cook! And everyone knows the ladies love a man who knows his way around the kitchen." At this he offered a conspiratorial wink in Helga's direction, causing her to look away with a slight blush. "Take my word for it; all I know how to cook are canned army rations, and I got stuck with your grandma…"

"Well in any case, I'd better get back in there. Make yourself comfortable Helga; it shouldn't be too much longer. Is your dad coming?" Arnold seemed to scan the room, as if Bob were an easy sight to miss.

"Yeah, Bob'll be here. I told him to clean himself up, so he's probably spent the last couple of hours looking for a clean shirt."

"Ok. I, uh…" Their eyes met as Arnold trailed off, giving way for the first time to the awkwardness that, Helga assumed, would be there until they had a chance to discuss her changed attitude. For now, at least, to her immense relief, he seemed to be content to enjoy her presence, regardless of her reasons. "I'll call everyone through in a while." With that, Arnold disappeared to the kitchen, once again leaving Helga at the mercy of the mob. Ernie and Oskar had ended their quarrel, though they still shot dry glares at each other from opposite sides of the room, and Suzie called Helga over to offer a glass of warm apple cider.

What followed was nothing less than an interrogation of Helga for every drop of information on the last several years of her life, though Helga quickly realised how little she had to report. Looking over the time since she had last talked to the boarders, she found herself feeling as though her life had been on hold, every day ticking over as bitterly as the last. She carefully avoided, when questioned, giving the real reasons that brought her back to them now, simply stating that someone had 'set her straight'. She realised quickly that this may have been an error; everyone naturally assumed this 'someone' to have been Arnold, and Helga was quickly bombarded with less-than-subtle jokes about the potential of a reignited relationship between the two teenagers. She thanked her stars that Arnold was out of the room, and was honestly relieved of the distraction when Mr Huynh sat down next to her to excitedly show off an album of recent photographs of Mai. Helga was truly happy to discover that, since they last spoke, Mr Huynh had become a grandfather to two small children, a boy and a girl. Though his hair was greyer these days, she thought his eyes and smile seemed younger than she had ever seen them when he spoke proudly of his growing family. For the next while, Helga simply sat back enjoying her cider, and the crackling of the fire, as she listened to each of the boarders fill her in on their lives during her absence – the occasional round of bickering being inevitable – smiling as she remembered the feeling of spending Christmas with a family.

Her family.

Before long, the conversation was interrupted by a fresh knock at the door, and Helga barely fought off the urge to dash past Phil to answer it herself. She was already braced to start taking on damage control. Sure enough, her father's gruff voice travelled through from the hallway.

"Phil? Crimeny, you're still alive?!"

"Oh, can it Pataki – you sound like my sister, my wife and my doctor!" Phil's retort was immediate. "Come on inside, merry Christmas."

"Uh, yeah. Merry Christmas. So's the food ready yet?" Helga could practically envision Bob's enormous fist grasping Phil's own thin, bony hand in an awkward shake. Heavy footsteps quickly approached the living room, and Bob seemed to balk as he stepped inside to see the small crowd of faces; Helga struggled to remember a time he had seemed more relieved to see her as his eyes fell on her. Helga herself was relieved to find he had been able to excavate a clean, light green polo shirt, an odd crease here and there betraying a poorly-executed attempt at ironing.

"Hey… Helga." He seemed uncomfortable for a moment longer until his eyes landed on the steaming bowl sitting on the end table near his daughter. He gave an audible sniff. "Is, uh, that apple cider you got there?" His eyes seemed to light up with an old hunger.

"Yeah Bob, come sit down." Helga sighed as she gestured to the seat adjacent to her, though Bob made an immediate beeline for the warm drink. "Everyone, this is my dad; Bob."

Bob froze, ladle in hand, as he recognised the faces of Ernie, Oskar and Mr Huynh. The men shared a worried look, and silently agreed to withhold the fact that they had met before. There had been an unscheduled demolition involved.

"Yeah, hi. Bob Pataki – call me Big Bob."

Helga and Suzie shared a confused look as each of the male boarders rushed to introduce themselves, Oskar loudly declaring that they had never met, nor broken any laws before. The women made their own wordless agreement at that moment that certain things were better off not known. One of Helga's worst nightmares then came true, as Suzie spoke up in an attempt to end the uncomfortable silence.

"So, um, Big Bob, we all just adore your daughter. Tell us, what was Helga like as a little girl?"

That broke the dam. Suddenly each boarder seemed to be accosting Bob for details of what Helga had been like before they first met her. Each question seemed to be accompanied by a tale of her antics at the boarding house during her years with Arnold, each story showing off her fiery attitude. Helga could do nothing but sit and wish the sofa would come alive and swallow her whole. For what felt like a lifetime, she watched Bob become increasingly red in the face, offering brief responses when he could, as the boarders pressed him for answers that Helga knew he simply did not know. Faced with such an assault, she gritted her teeth and wondered who would blow first, Bob or her. Her answer came as Suzie finished telling a story of when Helga, at the age of eleven, had discovered Oskar stealing a cereal bar from her backpack. She had chased the grown man twice around the boarding house before brutally tackling him and reclaiming what was hers. Bob finally exploded, into a fit a booming laughter.

"She did _what_?! You really _are_ a Pataki, ain'tcha girl?" He finally addressed his daughter, and Helga was stunned. It was the first time in years that she had heard Bob laugh at anything, and possibly the first time at all that she saw something resembling pride in his eyes when he looked at her. For the first time that day, she wondered whether she was still living through some spirit-induced vision. Some parallel world where not just Helga, but everyone, was nicer. As if on cue, a booming chime resonated through the entire house. Helga's heart skipped several, frightening beats before she realised it had been the dinner gong. Recovering quickly, she leapt to her feet, desperately hoping that the change of setting would redirect the conversation from 'the Life and Times of Helga Pataki'. Ghostly interventions could only go so far, after all, and Helga had been feeling the old urge to bolt, her nerves set on-edge.

"You heard the bell, people, dinner's getting cold! Come on, stop dragging your feet – I'm talking to you, Huynh! Put down the bowl Dad, I'm sure there'll be more at the table!" She began shepherding the group, with the speed and skill of a crowd control professional, towards the dining room.

Apparently, decoration at the Sunset Arms changed little year-to-year, and Helga recognised the wild, varied Christmas décor of the dining room from her time with the final ghost. Only the hand turkeys were a little fewer in number. Helga briefly thought back to that vision, and what it had foretold, and spared a wishful thought that her actions would allow Francesca to join her family at the table when that Christmas finally came, instead of being mourned. She avoided dwelling on it for too long; she knew that some things were beyond her control, though she could always hope. The large dining table was laden with a spectacular array of potatoes, vegetables, gravy and sauces, with a single space left empty for the coming centrepiece. The delectable smells were overpowering. Arnold stood waiting beside the table, the apron gone but the smear on his cheek still very much present.

"Ok everyone, grab a seat! Hi, Mr Pataki, thanks for coming." He offered Bob a friendly handshake.

"Oh, hey Arnie, good to see you again, it's been a while. Uh, thanks for the invite, I guess." Bob gruffly greeted the boy as he took the offered seat. "You got some crud on your face, kid. Right there." Bob gestured to his cheek, and Arnold immediately began wiping with an embarrassed blush while Helga contained a snigger. "You do the cooking or something?"

"Everything but the turkey, sir." Arnold gave a humble smile. "I, uh, I hope that's ok..?"

Bob waved a dismissive hand at the shy teenager.

"Yeah, no sweat. What are you, fourteen? My Olga was cooking us dinner from way before your age, until, well…" Helga felt an unfamiliar pang of sympathy for her father then; she knew, but had never taken the time to acknowledge, how hard the absence of his favourite daughter had been on Bob since the loss of Miriam. "Anyway, no need for that 'sir' crap. Big Bob is still fine."

"Sure thing Big Bob," Arnold's smile became open and friendly, "make yourself comfortable and help yourself to a drink. You too, Helga." His and Helga's eyes locked again, and she saw once more the desperate curiosity for answers behind Arnold's smile, focussed as he was on being a good host. She took her place, groaning inwardly as she realised that she would almost certainly be seated next to Arnold, given the remaining spaces. A complete coincidence, she was sure. Arnold returned in moments, carrying a stuffed, perfectly cooked turkey of incredible size. His grandma followed behind him, blowing a loud fanfare on a battered old trumpet, and Helga joined the table in banging their cutlery on the surface as the food approached, ending with a loud cheer as it hit the table. She had been told about that particular tradition, some years earlier, and did her best not to brush against Arnold as he took his seat beside her. What she had not expected was for Arnold's grandma to take her own seat and swiftly produce a starting pistol.

"Get it while it's hot! On your marks! Get set!"

"Pookie, where the _heck_ did you get..?!" Phil began to interject.

"GO!"

And so, Christmas dinner started with a very literal (and very loud) bang, and a maniacal cackle. Helga and Bob quickly entered the fray, once they had overcome their initial shock, loading their plates high as the numerous bowls and boards passed back and forth. Even for the nine of them, Big Bob and Oskar included, it was quite a banquet. Helga might have been embarrassed by the way she savagely attacked the small mountain of food she had claimed, but a glance told her that most of the table was being just as voracious. Conversation had halted, save for hurried requests to pass one thing or another, and of course the odd shout of "Kokoshka, ya bum!" As she bit into a roasted potato, perfectly crisp and seasoned on the outside with a beautifully fluffy centre, she concluded that Phil was right; Arnold was a mean cook.

The feeding frenzy persisted for some time, each guest quickly tearing through their first portion. Before long, though, the group slowed enough for chatter and laughter to flow across the table. Helga quickly found herself engaged in a roleplay of a formal state dinner with Gertie and Arnold, though she tried to minimise the number of times he caught her eye. A challenge, as he kept glancing in her direction when he thought she was looking away, his eyes filled with puzzlement and enjoyment in equal measure. Bob, she noticed, had quickly descended into an unspoken eating contest with 'Steely' Phil, and both men's eyes were narrow and locked as they continued to shovel food into their mouths with intensity. She tried to enjoy her own conversation while simultaneously remembering what she knew about the Heimlich manoeuvre. And throughout it all, a pig in a sweater was darting back and forth beneath the table, claiming every dropped scrap from the overloaded plates. It was bizarre, and it was chaotic.

Helga could scarcely remember feeling happier.

* * *

 **A/N Yes, Bob's reaction to seeing Phil is taken from TJM - it just seemed too perfect to change!**


	18. A New Chance - Part 5

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 6 – A New Chance (Part 5)**

Helga could barely move. Dinner had turned from a sprint into a marathon, the main course alone making her feel as if she might burst after several extra helpings. The conversation had lulled again, each guest simply smiling and murmuring in contentment, most of them holding their now-protruding bellies. Even Bob, Helga noticed, had surreptitiously loosened his big, white belt by several notches. His contest with Phil had, to her relief, prevented him from doing much talking, and now he was reclining with a look of satisfaction, releasing the occasional obnoxious belch. Unfortunately, the respite was short-lived. Arnold and his grandma emerged from the kitchen brandishing a steaming hot Christmas pudding, a fruit pavlova, thick with cream, and no fewer than three homemade fruit pies. At least she now knew why the boy had been so covered in flour. Arnold himself was given the honour of igniting the pudding he had made, after dousing it in brandy, and the table applauded and whistled at the brilliant blue flames. Helga was forced to contain a cringe, as he sat down and promptly asked if she would like some ice cream with her dessert; she swore she could hear Phoebe laughing hysterically. Electing to start with a slice of pie, Helga made a small sound of enjoyment as the light, crispy pastry melted in her mouth. Apparently, Arnold was a mean baker too.

"Don't you ever get _tired_ of being perfect, Football Head?" Crumbs flew as she spoke.

Helga froze, nearly choking on the mouthful of pie she had yet to swallow. The compliment had just slipped out; once again, Arnold had managed to force her off-script without even trying. And what was worse, the whole table had heard her. Arnold looked just as shocked. For him, even mocking compliments such as that from Helga had become a thing of the past.

"Uh…" She tried to recover, glancing at Arnold with wide eyes as quiet snickers began to emerge from some of the boarders. Amazingly, it was Arnold who saved them both.

"Oh, I'm not perfect Helga." She looked at him quizzically before he continued with a crooked grin. "If I was perfect, I wouldn't have let Grandma swap Grandpa's cranberry sauce for raspberry jelly."

The laughter around the table died as, right on cue, Phil's face turned to a look of horrified realisation, and his stomach released a colossal groan. In an instant, he leapt from the table with the energy of a man less than half his age (and a much emptier stomach), and sprinted in the direction of his private bathroom. The group was left in silence for a moment, broken only by the wobbling of Phil's discarded chair. All eyes turned to Gertie, who leaned back with a sly, wrinkled grin, tapping her fingers together like a supervillain. After another second, the room was filled with an uproar of laughter, Helga's slip forgotten in the wake of this new mischief. The girl clutched her sides, overcome with giggling at the scene, and she fought back the urge to clasp the old woman's hands and shout " _Teach me!_ "

Dessert was far quieter after that, the conversation once again becoming calm. Phil quietly slunk back into the room after a painful twenty minutes, retaking his seat to give his wife a pouting glare. Gertie simply responded with wink before blowing him a kiss. Helga was slightly relieved to see that plenty of the dessert was left over – apparently the group were human after all – and one of the pies was untouched. A mutual agreement was made between them all to slowly and determinedly make their way back to the living room, for a period of intense, quiet digestion (and most likely sleep). Each person groaned quietly as they hoisted themselves from the table, feeling the weight of the meal for the first time. None groaned louder than Oskar, though, as his wife frogmarched him away before he could somehow steal the leftovers for his later, private enjoyment. Only Abner, snoring happily, was left at (or rather, under) the table. Seeing Arnold and his grandma begin to clear the dishes, the older woman ushered Helga away as she tried to help.

"Go and get comfortable with the others, Eleanor." Gertie spoke once Arnold had left the room. "I'm sure you'd rather meet with the President when your stomach feels a little less like bursting." Before Helga could respond to this knowing comment, Gertie had nimbly dashed from the room with another cackle. After a moment though, and after several small, uncontrollable belches, Helga realised that this had been sage advice. She left to join the others, finding them once again spread around living room's various sofas and armchairs. The sun had set, making the room seem cosier than ever, and Mr Huynh appeared to have passed out immediately in the chair closest to the fire. His head was rolled back, and he snored gently, much as Abner had done. Bob had somehow found common ground with Oskar, as both men were engaged in an animated discussion over their favourite daytime game shows ("Whaddaya _mean_ you think The Wheel is rigged!?"), Suzie giving a husband a despairing yet somehow loving look. Ernie sat alone in the corner, talking quietly on the phone with a wide smile on his face. His conversation was low, though whatever the other person was saying seemed to be making Ernie laugh and blush. Helga smiled knowingly when Suzie met her eye and mouthed the word 'Lola'. Soon, she found herself deep in her own conversation with the other woman, plus the occasional banter with Phil, and Helga relished the peaceful calm after the storm that had been dinner.

Sadly, the calm could not last forever. Perhaps half an hour later, once her stomach had mercifully settled, Arnold poked his head into the room. He was wearing the pink apron again.

"Hey, Helga? My grandma could use a break. Would you mind helping me with the rest of the dishes?"

Helga's heart was set racing at the prospect of the two of them being alone for the first time since that morning, though she groaned inwardly at Arnold's flimsy excuse. The eagerness had returned to his eyes, not that she could blame him; she had turned everything he expected from her on its head in a single day, and so far, she had offered no reason why.

"Way to be subtle, short man." The sleepy interjection from Phil, who now sat in his own armchair with closed eyes, bought Helga a moment to collect herself. Arnold's cute blush on hearing this was of no help.

' _He must be so confused… Deep breath old girl – you know what happens if you don't suck it up. I am NOT gonna let him die, and banning him from driving every December for the next decade will be WAY easier if he actually likes you._ ' She cut off the train of thought there, as she had begun to wander dangerously towards the idea of tying Arnold to a chair during the Christmas period. For safety.

"Geez, making me work my tab off, huh? Ok Football Head, I guess I could lend a hand." Helga tried to be as nonchalant as possible as she rose to her feet (far easier now than thirty minutes ago) and followed Arnold to the kitchen. It came as no great surprise that there were very few dishes left to be cleaned. ' _My goodness, I wonder if Arnold had some kind of ulterior motive?_ ' Helga rolled her eyes at her own thought, but dutifully began drying as Arnold attended to the last remaining plates. The two shot each other the occasional glance, but Helga once again found herself experiencing a deafening silence; the tension in the room was thick as each waited for the other to speak.

"I'm sorry about earlier."

Helga's jaw, which had been opening to finally begin the dreaded talk, dropped as she heard Arnold speak first. ' _Isn't that MY line?_ '

" _You're_ sorry? Sorry for what!?"

"For when you were walking away earlier." Arnold was avoiding her eye, his cheeks pink. "I just hope you don't think I was… 'checking you out' or anything."

Helga was stunned. And a little disappointed. That was exactly what she thought, or hoped, he had been doing. She recovered as quickly as she could, her old defences quickly ready to hide her disappointment.

"Oh please. As if Saint Arnold could ever succumb to something as wicked as ogling his ex. _Especially_ after she'd just shown up on his doorstep and laid one on him! Perish the thought!"

Hearing a shade of bitterness in her voice for the first time that day, Arnold finally turned to look at her, the dishes forgotten.

"I didn't mean it like that, I just don't normally like to stare. I was actually… Well, I noticed your hair."

"My..? Oh." Helga's hand instinctively went to her head, feeling the braid that had been there all day. Her finger traced the streak of pink ribbon that flowed through it. "I forgot I'd done that."

"It's your bow, isn't it? The same bow. I'd know that colour anywhere. I thought you'd thrown it away."

"I didn't throw it away. I just kind of forgot about it. I forgot about a lot of stuff until recently…" She trailed off. Arnold continued to stare at her, seemingly waiting for her to continue, but she did not know where to begin. "I'm sorry about this morning too." That was a start. What she had not expected was for Arnold to give a small smile.

"Don't be." She quickly looked to him in shock. "Whatever your reasons were for… that… it was the most _you_ I've seen you be for a long time. Not the person you've been stomping around trying to be for the last few years. It was a shock, sure, but I'm just happy to see you acting like yourself again. All I want now is to understand what happened last night to cause all of this. I mean, you didn't exactly seem full of Christmas cheer when we spoke yesterday – it must've been one heck of a 'bad dream'."

His eyes were full of concern and empathy, and Helga damned herself for wanting to hug him as badly as she did right then. It made the whole conversation much more difficult. Helga doubted that she could bring herself to tell the full story for a second time that day. Even if she could, telling Arnold was very different to telling Phoebe. So much of it had been their story, after all; their past, and their terrible future. Plus, she would rather not blame their first kiss in years on ghosts. Taking a deep breath, she tried to make him understand.

"I dreamt about Christmases. First it was the ones we shared, both really good and really bad, and how the bad stuff was all my stupid fault." Arnold lowered his eyes at that point, his face overcome with sad recollection. "It… brought back a lot of things. Then I imagined all of the fun people must have been having today, and I felt like an idiot for missing out on it and thinking _I_ was the smart one. It made me realise how long it had been since I was actually _happy_ , and not just drifting along on ice queen autopilot. I dreamt about, well, you, and the whole Santa Claus thing you did for the hospital kids." Her eyes widened at a particular memory, and she cut off her own story. "I'm so, _so_ sorry for what I said yesterday! It was unforgivable, it was callous, and I-"

Arnold cut her off, perhaps unconsciously taking her hand. His green eyes bored into her, yet unlike the invisible eyes of the final spirit, his stare filled her with warmth.

"It's ok. I know you didn't mean it."

Helga dragged her hand away, filled with shame, and folded her arms as tears prickled her eyes.

"That's just it, Arnold; I DID mean it!" She turned away, unable to look at him. "It was awful, and ignorant, and maybe I didn't appreciate the _gravity_ of what I was saying, but when I walked away last night I wasn't even sorry. But during my, um, dream, I realised just how sick and wrong it was to even _think_ something like that." She took a breath, giving Arnold a sideways glance. His arms were limp at his sides, and he seemed on the verge of tears himself at her distress.

"And then it just got worse. I dreamt what the future would be like if I kept being such a toxic _bitch_!" her voice filled with hateful venom and frustration as she envisioned her comatose older self, and her fists clenched tightly. "I realised that I would be alone, whether I still wanted to be or not. Miserable, pathetic and alone. And what's worse, I realised that I would hurt people I care about in ways that I hadn't even imagined. Just like my mom." She could not help but give Arnold a pointed glance at that moment, her face taking on a look of determination. "So, I woke up. And I mean I _really_ woke up. When I came back, er, I mean came _to_ , I swore to myself that I wasn't going to be that person anymore, even if it kills me. Because the alternative is worse." As she finished, Arnold seemed to be regarding her with a look of awe. Helga released a squeak of shock, as the boy suddenly rushed forward, locking his arms around her in a tight hug. In the back of her mind, she heard her younger self release a girlish sigh.

"Please don't pound me for this." Arnold's voice was soft against her ear, and tinged with humour. "You just looked like you needed it."

"Yeah, well," Helga managed to respond with a soft laugh, "I _might_ have slugged you, or I might've hugged you back, but you've kind of got my arms pinned, Football Head." Her body was tingling with warmth and memory as she felt his closeness; her response belied how much she wanted to hold him back just as tightly. She was saddened when he finally released her and pulled away.

"That really does sound like quite a dream, and I'm sorry you went through that. But I'm glad you had it if that's what led to all this. So, um, as regards what happened this morning..?"

Helga flushed, having set aside that detail as she relayed her story.

"Oh. That was… I was in a really great mood, feeling like a new woman and whatnot, but I was nervous coming over. So, to psych myself up I focussed on how much it would suck not to have you in my life anymore." She quickly caught herself. "You know, you, Pheebs, those knuckleheads in the other room, eheh." Arnold gave her a slanted look but allowed her to continue. "Then when you opened the door, your stupid _menagerie_ got me all turned around, and then you were right there in front of me and… Oh my God." She facepalmed, quite literally for once, as the reality hit her.

"What?" Arnold quirked an eyebrow. Helga finally met his eye, her face incredulous.

"That one really _was_ 'heat of the moment'!" She finally allowed herself to acknowledge, with a whine.

Arnold's own hand shot to his mouth, as he fought to contain a snort of laughter when she shared her realisation of the ridiculous irony. Their eyes locked, green and blue meeting for a moment of silence, until Arnold broke first with a fresh chuckle. Helga followed suit, and within moments the two were laughing deeply and uncontrollably. Helga softly hit her forehead against the kitchen counter, her eyes filled with tears of a different kind.

"Crimeny, what the hell is _wrong_ with me?" She struggled to ask as she laughed, barely able to breathe.

Arnold rested against the counter next to her, wiping his own eyes as he struggled to catch his breath too. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder – something that he suspected would have cost him an arm a day earlier.

"As far as I can see, nothing at all. Not anymore."

"You actually mean that, don't you?" Both teenagers gained control of themselves as their eyes met once again, Helga's filled with disbelief. "Even after everything I've done? One Christmas dinner hardly balances out years of treating people like dirt, and I'm pretty sure everyone else we know will feel the same way."

"You're trying, Helga. You can't change what's happened, but it seems obvious to me that you've learned from it. The others will see it too, I promise – it might just take some time."

"Always looking on the bright side, Arnoldo?" Helga stuck out her tongue; she was baiting him, they both knew, but she wanted to hear it anyway.

"Someone has to." Arnold beamed, more than happy to oblige. After a pause, he opened his mouth again, looking determined to say something more, but he was cut off by the chiming of a hallway clock. Six o'clock. He closed his eyes in frustration. "Shoot. I'm really sorry, but there's somewhere I've got to be." He glanced over to a large paper bag, which Helga knew was filled with sandwiches for a starving Wolfgang.

"It's ok. I'm… sure it's important. You're coming to Rhonda's party, right?"

"You're coming too?" Arnold gave Helga an impressed, if slightly shocked look. She rolled her eyes in an attempt to hide her nerves at the idea.

"Yeah, well, Phoebe practically begged me to make an appearance, so I thought what the heck. It'll sure give the princess something to talk about. I know Phoebe's getting a lift with Geraldo – do you need a ride?" She tried to sound altruistic, though she secretly wanted to avoid arriving at the party alone; her mind had already twisted the gathering of teenagers into a swarm of hungry piranhas.

"You can drive?" Arnold's impressed look only increased, earning him a dry glare. "Sorry, normally I'd love one, but this errand might make me run late. I'll see you there though, I promise."

"Whatever floats your boat, no skin off my nose." Helga hurriedly tried to cover her disappointment. "I'll just catch you there, then. Hey, I can handle the last two dishes for you, so, uh, you can go run off on this errand of yours." Arnold seemed put out at her sudden rush for him to leave, so she took a breath and put a hand on his shoulder, offering him a sincere smile. "And thanks for dinner. Really. Best I've ever had, and coming from the sister of Olga the Gourmet, you'd better believe that's saying something." Arnold smiled sheepishly at this, before bidding her goodbye, reaffirming his promise to see her later that night. Helga knew, as he left the room, that he spared her a final glance once she turned back to finish the dishes. She heard him bid his goodbyes to the household, before quickly dashing out the door, bag in hand.

Her job done, Helga made her own way back to the living room. Apparently, in her time away, the conversation had turned to sports, and now her father was wearing a look of worrying interest while the male boarders described the exciting and 'lucrative' world of competitive mule racing. Gertie, meanwhile, was playing a jovial tune on the piano, to which Suzie was singing along while performing a slow, swaying dance – her movements reminded Helga of the second Christmas ghost, and she was quickly lured to join in, laughing with the other women. She suspected that Phil was only pretending to be asleep, given the noise; his snores were loud and exaggerated. Helga knew that she would have to leave soon too, much as she wished otherwise, but she had a party to prepare for. Eventually, she broke away to approach her father.

"I need to get going Dad, mind wrapping this up?" She tried approaching her father more-or-less politely.

"Huh? Oh, sure girl, in a minute." He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, not even turning to look at her. Instead, he quickly continued his conversation. "So tell me again, this mule cost you peanuts and you won _how_ much?"

" _Bob_. I've got somewhere I need to be, so either head out with me or hand over the car keys." Gone were the days of Helga ignoring her father's disregard. She had learned to take charge – she had managed to get him here in the first place, after all.

"Ok, geez, I'm coming. No need to blow a gasket…" Bob slowly rose to his feet, his joints still complaining, and offered a quick goodbye to the boarders. As he handed over an outdated business card, bearing his phone number, Helga worried for a moment whether she had opened Pandora's Box with this little introduction – the last thing she needed was Bob getting involved in the boarders' infamous schemes. Her own goodbyes were a little more drawn out, Gertie in particular refusing to release her from a fresh vice grip, at the door, until she had promised to visit again soon. A carefully-wrapped pie was also thrust into her hands. The last thing Helga heard as the door swung closed, was Phil reassuring his wife that they would be seeing plenty more of her 'if the short man had anything to say about it'.

Happy as she was at those parting words, Helga still shivered and drew her coat around her tightly. The night was clear for now, the glow of the streetlamps bouncing off the snow, and Helga wondered how beautiful the stars might be if the artificial lights were to suddenly vanish. The air, which had been bracing that morning, now carried a cutting edge, causing the pair to hasten towards the car. Bob, of course, had been too obtuse to pick up a coat at all. Jumping in, he wasted no time in igniting the engine, adjusting the climate control to warm them both. Silence washed over them as they waited for the air to heat; that was nothing new. Helga contented herself with resting her head against the window, her eyes closed, replaying her conversation with Arnold and trying to establish some kind of plan for the night ahead.

"That kid sure put on a good spread."

Helga jolted as the car pulled away, on hearing her father speak. Small-talk, by contrast, was certainly something new. She had been drifting off as the warm air flowed around her, and she wondered if she had dreamt his words.

"Uh, did you say something?" She turned to her father with an apprehensive look, though he kept his eyes firmly on the road. His face looked somehow determined; it was clear he had something on his mind.

"Yeah. Yeah… Just that Arnie there made us a good meal. It was nice – been a while." her father continued.

"I _know_ , Bob, I'm a lousy cook. You've made it very clear." Helga rolled her eyes, hoping a lecture was not coming to ruin her Christmas mood.

"Crimeny girl, that's not what I meant…" He trailed off with a sigh. This was clearly hard for him. "I guess it just reminded me of how things used to be, with your mom and Olga." Helga's eyes went wide. Bob clearly remembered their awkward, half-cooked family dinners quite differently to her. She tried to somehow change the subject.

"Have you heard from her today? Olga, I mean?" She felt the need to specify, though she doubted Bob would take kindly to hearing her describe a visitation from the ghost of his wife.

"She called while you were out. Usual stuff; Alaska is great, kids are great. Apparently, she won some kind of teacher of the year award." He paused for a moment – once he would have bragged about something like that for hours. "Made it clear that she still wouldn't come home, but she says hi."

Helga took a breath, bracing herself. If ever there was going to be a test of her vow to be a better, kinder person, this would be it. She gritted her teeth and forced out the words.

"Are. You. Ok?"

Bob was silent for a while, though she saw shock pass over him. This was clearly strange for both of them.

"You know something? All I ever wanted was a family. A family that I could support and be proud of. And look at me. I'm fifty-five years-old, my family is gone, my business is gone. I used to think I had it all under control, everything in place, but I guess I dropped the ball big time somewhere back there. This was the first time I had anything resembling a life in years."

Helga was speechless. She had known that Bob was not the same man he had once been. Of course she had. But this level of openness was unprecedented; she was afraid that responding would break the spell. He glanced at her, still mostly focused on the road ahead of him.

"I know we never, uh, 'bonded' or whatever. Your mom always wanted us to, but we never did. But I'm gonna say this to you all the same." Helga braced herself again, not at all used to getting fatherly advice. "Don't be me. I used to think I knew what was best for you kids, pushing you to be 'winners'. To be Patakis. Where did any of that get _me_ , huh? Nah. Do your own thing, Lord knows you're sharp enough, and when you've got whatever it is you want, don't just sit on your rear and let it slip away like an idiot. And maybe I've got no right to say this, but when you do move on, try not to forget about your old man, ok?"

Helga watched her father's shoulders sag a little, as if he had released something that had been trapped inside for a long, long time. She knew that she should respond, but she could barely find any words. In any case, she sensed that she would get little more out of Bob now that he had said his piece.

"…ok." She managed that much, seeing something approaching a smile linger on Bob's face.

They were silent then, as they continued their drive home, but for once the silence was comfortable.


	19. A New Chance - Part 6

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 6 – A New Chance (Part 6)**

As Helga stood checking herself in the mirror, she tried to recapture the fear that had washed over her while she had waited for the first spirit; watching the seconds and minutes fall away, barely able to draw breath. Her mother's words had been fresh in her mind then, and she had been terrified. Leaving to attend a party, by comparison, should have been the easiest thing in the world. Unfortunately, the mind rarely works that way, and Helga had been quietly fretting for the past hour as she readied herself. The girl in the mirror frowned at her, apparently shocked by her sudden transformation; hair which had been pulled tightly back for years now hung around her shoulders in loose curls, and her face had been gently touched with makeup, subtly highlighting her eyes and lips. Her ribbon now encircled her neck as a choker, complimenting her pink top and blue jeans. She looked good, she knew, not that it eased her nerves. She half-wondered if any of her classmates would even recognise her.

The irony was laughable, she could admit that much. To think that she could be made to care so strongly about anyone else's approval. She had built the evening up in her mind to be the final gauntlet of her transformation. Her classmates were unlike Phoebe and Arnold, and she could still hear their howls of laughter on hearing Gerald's scathing joke. They hated her, feared her, and many of them had suffered her wrath in one form or another. How were the collective victims of Helga G. Pataki supposed to react when the monster threw herself at their mercy? She tried to dismiss the mental images of torches and pitchforks. Regardless, she had sworn to herself that she would break free of her isolation, whatever the cost to her pride. Helga wanted to live, and this night was about showing everyone, in no uncertain terms, that the monster was dead. And what better time for such a revelation than Christmas?

"In the past few hours, I've successfully grovelled for Phoebe's forgiveness, survived a Sunset Arms dinner, kissed Arnold without fleeing the state afterwards, and had an honest-to-goodness, meaningful conversation with _Bob_." She stared her reflection down, building up her confidence. "Christmas miracles are apparently being handed out like free candy today, so whether you like it or not, I am _going_ to this damned _party_!" With that, she tore herself away from the mirror, seized her keys, her coat and her bag, and marched to the door with all the determination of a soldier heading out to war.

"I'm going out, Dad!" She shouted a quick goodbye to her father. He had reassumed his usual position in the trophy room, now accompanied by a rapidly-vanishing fruit pie.

"Be back by eleven!" For the second time that day, her father's gruff response made her freeze at the door.

"Midnight!" She negotiated.

"Fine, whatever." At this, Helga finally stepped out, feeling the wind bite her once again, and made haste for the car. For some reason, she found herself smiling.

The journey to the Lloyd mansion was slow, given Helga's newfound, cautious approach to driving, though the roads were virtually empty. It gave her time to focus on the wonderful day she had enjoyed so far, in an attempt to quiet her fluttering nerves; she swore to herself that, even if she were to be turned away, she could rest knowing this had been one of the finest Christmases of her life. As the enormous home came into view, however, her mind filled with visions of the party she had seen without truly being there. Music and laughter, games and companionship. Helga wanted all of that. She hoped against hope, desperately, that they would let her in. At the same time, she realised her own tactical error; her stalling had made her late, and she was now faced with the prospect of making a grand entrance as the whole group looked on. She imagined countless Western movies, loud conversations and lively piano music screeching to a halt as the villain bursts into the saloon. She hoped no-one would dive out of the window; Curly was apparently capable of it.

Parking her car and approaching the door, Helga almost laughed at the symbolism. The entrance to the mansion was huge and foreboding, the double doors gleaming black, each bearing a dark metal knocker far larger and better-kept than the one at the Pataki household. The twin lions sneered at her, challenging her to take the final step, and Helga found herself picturing the ominous words 'Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here' scored above the doorframe. From inside, though, she could faintly hear laughter. Imagining the warmth of the lounge, and shivering as the cold continued to gnaw through her thin jacket, Helga finally found the courage to grasp one of the heavy rings and knock. The boom made even her jump. She was unsurprised to find a response came quickly, considering her prospective host, and the door soon swung open to reveal a smiling, elegant Rhonda Wellington Lloyd. The smile, as Helga might have assumed, was temporary.

"Oh. My. _God!_ " As Rhonda's face took on a look of horrified shock, Helga wondered if she herself had looked as mortified when her own mother's ghost drifted into her bedroom. "What on _Earth_ are you doing here?"

"Hey Pri… Hey, Rhonda." Helga tried a polite smile, though this only made Rhonda look even more concerned. "Phoebe told me last night that you were having this party. Thought I'd… drop by. Can I come in?" She held her breath while waiting for her classmate to answer – the other girl seemed to be going through an internal panic.

"Are you _serious_?!" The dark-haired girl finally managed to respond. "You haven't said one nice word to a single person here since we were thirteen! Why would you even..?" Rhonda took a breath, seeming to compose herself. When she continued, she had reapplied her usual air of calm superiority. "I'm sorry, darling, but this is _my_ party, and Phoebe had no right to invite you without my permission. You're hardly the most well-liked person after all, and I will most certainly _not_ have you upsetting my guests."

Helga cringed, as the other girl stood watching her with a haughty pout and a hand on her hip. She had been afraid of this, but she would not give in without a fight.

" _Come on_ , Princess. What if I told you that I've turned over a new leaf? I just want to be included, and I'm asking for a chance. I won't cause any trouble, scout's honour!" She raised a hand as if taking an oath.

"A new leaf? Really?" Rhonda folded her thin arms and raised a perfectly-styled eyebrow, regarding Helga with a thoroughly unconvinced look. "You'll forgive me if I'm sceptical."

"Oh no, I'm serious. Brand new Helga, right here – just ask Phoebe and Arnold." She saw a look of mind shock pass over Rhonda's face at her use of Arnold's real name. That was new. Sensing an opportunity, Helga stepped forward and put an arm around the surprised girl's shoulder, her other hand waving into the distance. "And just think, you could be the one who gets the bragging rights. The night that Helga G. Pataki, boogieman of Hillwood High, turned suddenly and inexplicably nice. The night she threw her reputation into a woodchipper for all to see. And it all happened at a Rhonda Wellington Lloyd party. Think of the _gossip_!"

Rhonda shook off Helga's arm, but it was clear she had struck her Achilles heel. The look of hunger in the girl's eyes was worrying yet hilarious, like a cat seeing a piece of string. Helga was honestly surprised not to see her salivating.

"You have my attention…" The girl shook herself, it seemed she still needed more. "But you're asking me to take quite a risk here – I have a reputation as a hostess to maintain!"

Helga sighed; it was time for the nuclear option.

"I didn't want to do this, Rhonda. I really didn't. But you've left me no choice." As she spoke, Helga reached into her clutch. Rhonda seemed momentarily terrified, as if she were about to be faced with some kind of mutilating weapon. Before she could bolt, however, Helga withdrew a simple, white envelope. She held it up, letting the other girl see it clearly.

"Inside this envelope is an official, certified copy of my birth certificate." Rhonda's eyes instantly widened as Helga continued. "If you agree to let me come to your party, if you give me your 'word as a Lloyd' or whatever, I will give you undisputable, legal proof of my middle name."

She waved the envelope back and forth, containing a laugh as Rhonda's eyes followed it, her pupils actually dilated. The mysterious G. in Helga G. Pataki had taken on almost legendary status over the years, all efforts to discover what it stood for being thwarted. Phoebe knew, of course, as did Arnold eventually, but both had stayed strong in the face of intense social pressure. Fear of reprisals from Helga had that effect on people, and so did loyalty.

" _IgiveyoumywordasaLloyd!_ " The gossip queen practically screamed, her defences crumbling as she snatched the envelope from her new guest's hands. Tearing it open and scanning the document inside, she broke into a wide grin. "Geraldine?"

"Terrible, isn't it?" Helga brought a hand to her forehead, swooning in a theatrical show of devastation. Rhonda's grin vanished as she was hit by a fresh realisation, a loophole in their deal.

"I can keep this, right?" She clutched the certificate protectively to her chest.

"Doi. Otherwise no-one would ever believe you." Helga consented, rolling her eyes. "And don't pretend you aren't going to have your family's lawyers check it for authenticity or something. Just give it back when your done with… whatever your gossip-fuelled mind feels the need to do with it." On hearing this, Rhonda gave a sigh of relief, her smile returning.

"Then a deal's a deal. Come on in, darling, you must be freezing!" She was right; Helga felt a tingling wave of relief as she stepped into the foyer, warmth flowing over her chilled skin. "The party is down that hall, second door on the left. Everyone's here, except for Arnold – I actually thought you were him. I have _no_ idea what's keeping that boy. Anyway, I'm off to stash this in Daddy's safe."

"Which one?"

Rhonda opened her mouth to give an honest reply ("the big one"), until she saw the bright grin on Helga's face after her subtle jab. It was quite different from her usual sneers. Sticking out her tongue, with a small smile of her own, the hostess turned and began making her way up the grand staircase. Helga, to her discomfort, realised that she was left alone to face the crowd. As she approached the room, the laughter becoming louder, she found herself hoping that her arrival would not spoil everyone's mood. She hesitated at this, for a moment; unselfish thoughts were new, and she was still getting used to them. Pressing on, she took several deep breaths before pushing open the door. She did so as quietly as possible, not that she really expected it to make a difference.

Her saloon theory proved more-or-less correct. Familiar faces were spread around the room. Some were dancing, some paired up in conversation, a few gathered in a circle as they played cards. Several, notably Harold, surrounded a table laden heavily with expensive finger food. All eyes turned to her as she entered, and the entire party seemed to freeze. The music kept playing, at least.

"Uh… Hi." With an awkward wave, Helga found herself inadvertently doing a splendid impression of Brainy.

" _Helga_ , I'm so happy you made it!" Phoebe broke rank, tearing herself away from where she and Gerald had been dancing, leaving the latter looking as though he had been slapped. She quickly walked over to her friend, embracing her in a comforting hug.

"Yeah, happy to be here Pheebs." Helga spoke loud enough for the room to hear, before lowering her voice to a whisper. "If they come at me, hold them off while I make for the window."

"It won't work," Phoebe responded just as quietly, "Rhonda had them reinforced after an… incident at Thanksgiving." Breaking away, Helga looked over the room and wondered whether anyone else had taken a breath since her arrival.

"Crimeny, do I have two heads or something? I come in peace, people!" She pleaded to the crowd, desperately hoping for the awkwardness to end. She got half her wish, as everyone slowly returned to their previous activities. A few called out a greeting, and an even smaller few nervously came forward her to politely wish her well. Helga responded to each of them warmly, grateful for even that small show of support, though she suspected it would take a while for her heart to stop racing. She wondered if, as the night went on, she might even be comfortable. She had just succeeded in making Eugene and Sheena laugh, the two of them having tentatively approached as if she might try to eat them, and was feeling somewhat proud of herself when Gerald appeared at her shoulder.

"Can I have a word?" He spoke politely, and quietly, but Helga could sense danger in his voice. She nodded, unwilling to speak until she got a better sense of what he wanted, and he led her to a quiet corner. People were watching, she knew, and she silently prayed that neither she nor Gerald would cause a scene. She had promised Rhonda, after all, and despite needing to buy her way in, she was truly grateful to not be shut out in the cold.

"Phoebe told me you came by and apologised today." Gerald began when they were alone. "I couldn't believe it. Then I texted my man, and he tells me you agreed to have dinner with him. I _really_ couldn't believe that. I figure you're smart enough to know that those two are the _only_ people in this entire town that wouldn't slam the door in your face – God knows what you did to Rhonda to get in here – but I am _not_ going to let you hurt them again. So I'm gonna ask you this _once_ ; what are you trying to pull, Pataki?"

"Maybe Santa brought me that attitude adjustment you asked him for." Helga gave a shrug, though Gerald's face made it clear that he was in no mood for jokes. "Look, I'm not trying to 'pull' anything. What do you want me to say, Gerald? You were right, I was an ass, and I'm _sorry_. I said it to Phoebe, I said it to Arnold and now I'm saying it to you. We don't have to like each other, which is _fortunate_ , but I'm trying to be better here, so please don't ruin this for me." She finished with an earnest look. Gerald, however, was simply staring at her with wide eyes and a dropped jaw.

"Did you just call me 'Gerald'?" Helga blinked in surprise as he spoke. "No 'Geraldo'? No 'Tall Hair Boy'? What the hell _happened_ to you?"

" _That's_ what you took from that?!" Her shoulders sagged and she gave an exasperated growl. "Yes, _Gerald_ , consider it a Christmas gift from me to you! No more insulting nicknames! Now, your girlfriend is looking worried, so can we wrap this up? Or do you need something else?"

"No, I think we're good." Gerald quickly pulled out a small, grey device from his jacket pocket. Pushing a few buttons, Helga's own voice spoke from the machine.

" _You were right, I was an ass, and I'm_ sorry _._ " Gerald smiled wider, pushing a few more buttons. " _I was an ass- I was an ass-_ "

" _Mmm_ , mmm, mmm, music to my ears!" He continued to repeat her confession. Though he seemed relaxed, Helga could tell he was watching her carefully. For her part, she simply gave him a dry look.

"Well played. You gonna make that your new ringtone?"

"Not a bad idea!" Gerald gave a final chuckle before giving her another serious look. "And I seem to still have all my limbs, so you've passed the test. I meant what I said, and I'm gonna be watching you, but I guess whatever you're trying to do here is genuine. Don't screw it up, Pataki." With that, he offered her a hand. She accepted, with a small smile, and their eyes narrowed as both squeezed harder than was necessary, feeling bones pop.

"So, you gonna tell me what brought all this on? Phoebe won't spill." Gerald casually inquired as they moved to re-join the group.

"A bunch of ghosts told me to shape up." Helga responded with a shrug. Gerald rolled his eyes.

"Fine, Pataki, _don't_ tell me."

Helga smiled privately. Maybe this party would be fun after all


	20. A New Chance - Part 7

**A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL**

 **Stave 6 – A New Chance (Part 7)**

"YOU'RE ALIVE!"

When Rhonda re-entered the lounge, her new document secured and her makeup tastefully refreshed, her boyfriend leapt to her side and embraced her tightly. Several relieved sighs and exhaled breaths around the room echoed this sentiment; apparently some of the group suspected Helga of entering the party over their hostess's dead body. She shook her head as she watched Rhonda try to comfort a tearful Curly without having him crumple her Caprini dress.

Since her brief encounter with Gerald, Helga had resumed her efforts to socialise. This was easier said than done; she compared the experience to getting an entire kennel full of skittish puppies to trust her, given the nervous tension visible in the eyes of everyone she approached. But progress was being made, and the crowd was slowly beginning to warm to a Helga that laughed with them instead of at them. She was still sarcastic, her dry, cutting humour weaving its way into most conversations, but her altered spirit shone through in every word. With each face that she turned to a smile, even if it was an extremely surprised smile, she felt as if a weight that she had borne since entering the room had been lifted a little more. Helga revelled in the slowly rekindling feeling of being accepted; she had imagined it, as she stood watching this very party as an invisible outsider, but it now flowed around and within her, leaving her giddy.

Some conversations posed a greater challenge than others, of course. Lila had been one such case, particularly as the redhead had been quick to give Helga a tight hug when wished a 'Merry Christmas'. Their catch-up began with Helga offering the other girl an awkward yet sincere apology for the undeserved venom in her time of need. She almost wished that Lila would scream, berate her, or at the very least show some trace of ill-will – Helga felt any of these would be well-deserved – but no; once again there seemed to be no limit to the sweetness of Lila Sawyer. Helga's apology was readily and joyfully accepted (amongst a barrage of 'oh-so's and 'ever so's), and the other girl quickly steered their conversation into more pleasant areas. The knowing look on her face was apparent as she listened to Helga describe her afternoon with Arnold and his family, and she brightly voiced her delight at the pair's 'reconnection'. The reaction was a stark revelation for Helga. While she had never before believed it, and while Lila had never openly acknowledged it, she realised in that moment that 'Little Miss Perfect' had always been in their corner. Helga's feeble protests that the event had been 'just dinner' were painfully futile under the redhead's intuitive grin, and the blushing girl felt compelled to flee the conversation, for now. A promise was made, though, that the two would get together in the near future, Helga's hesitance being no match for Lila's clasped hands and pleading eyes.

In any case, the talk left Helga drained. Pursuing a break, she thought to try her luck at joining one of the several games being played in the quieter corners of the room, pausing on the way to fill a plate with food from the laden table. She closely inspected each of the extravagant hors d'oeuvres, unable to tell exactly what many of them they were, generally risking or rejecting each on the basis of a cautious sniff. Eventually, though, she approached a group formed of P.S.118 faces as Sid began shuffling a deck of cards with finesse; the boy clearly prided himself on sleight of hand.

"Mind dealing me in?"

" _Ah!_ " The boy, still known for being prone to panic, gave a visible jolt as she approached, sweat instantly appearing on his brow, before beginning to deal. "S-sure Helga, we're playing Texas hold'em."

"Aww, do we HAVE to let her play?" Harold interjected, tightly clutching a plate loaded far higher than Helga's, and which seemed to constantly refill. The large boy, still lacking in maturity, glowered at her with an infantile pout. "She broke my jaw, ya know!"

Most of the table glared at Harold on hearing this, Sid in particular making rapid 'cease and desist' motions with his free hand, though he said nothing; it was clear that nobody saw a positive outcome from upsetting the latest arrival at the table. A response quickly came, however, from Harold's own girlfriend.

"It was years ago, Harold." Patty began in her usual, level tone, not taking her eyes off her cards. "And I heard what you called her; I would've put you in the hospital too."

That settled the matter, with nothing further needed – Patty had spoken. Harold, his already pink face flushed, lapsed into quiet, embarrassed grumbling as he attacked the contents of his plate. None but Helga noticed the quick, covert wink Patty offered her, and she flashed back a grateful smile. The game proceeded, quickly becoming a tense battle of wits and bluffing. Her eyes darted around the table, sizing up her competition and quietly calculating their tells as each hand was played; Harold would burst into cackling laughter on being dealt anything better than a pair, Sid was prone to fidgeting nervously, tapping his fingers on his knees, and Stinky's eyes became half-lidded in a forced attempt at nonchalance. Patty was by far the greatest challenge, both girls' eyes locked and unwavering, neither of their faces so much as twitching as they fought to conceal their thoughts. The central pile of chips grew steadily, building to what the table quickly realised would be the final hand as competitors dropped away on-by-one. Helga liked her chances.

"All in." She threw Patty a smug, challenging look as she slowly added her remaining chips to the pile.

"Call." Patty countered, not batting an eye. Her face finally betrayed the smallest of smirks as she revealed her cards. "Three of a kind, tens" For a moment, Helga feigned shock, before her grin became predatory and she showed her own hand.

"Three of a kind, Aces! Merry Christmas, me!" She gleefully reached over to claim the pot, her opponents groaning, before a wheezing voice cut her off.

"Uh… Flush."

Incredulous eyes all turned to Brainy, who sat with his usual grin and his customary wave. Little had changed for him over the years, though puberty had graced him with a worse-than-average case of acne. Not that he ever complained. This time, however, his waving hand held winning cards. Glances were exchanged across the table as each player uncomfortably tried to remember whether he had been there the entire time, Helga finally unfreezing to slowly push the pile in the strange boy's direction.

"… _so_ good of you to finally show up; we were getting worried about you!" The tension was broken by Rhonda's voice as the door to the lounge swung open. She was half-dragging a remorseful Arnold by the arm while throwing him a chastising look. He had clearly done his best to smarten up for the evening, wearing a long-sleeved, blue plaid shirt and sensible, grey trousers, but his hair was apparently beyond help.

"I know, I'm sorry. I just got stuck at the hospital longer than I expected."

Helga looked on as Gerald quickly came to his best friend's rescue, leaving Rhonda to give an exasperated shake of her head. Arnold's eyes, she thought, seemed to be scanning the room, despite quickly being surrounded by a small flock of friends and well-wishers. As a glass of punch found its way into his hand, he finally caught sight of her and his searching stopped. She had known Arnold long enough to recognise when something was on his mind, and her concern grew the longer his gaze lingered on her. Offering a small wave, fortunately, seemed to break whatever trance he was under; with a similar jolt to the one she had seen that morning, Arnold finally began paying attention to the people around him.

' _That was weird – I wonder if something happened. Wow, like I'm one to talk..._ '

Helga was pulled away from her thoughts by Sid announcing the next game, dragging her attention back to the table. From that point on, the night seemed to flow quickly away from her in a stream of chatter, laughter and punch. She persisted valiantly in her efforts to slay the creature that had been Helga G. Pataki, joking warmly with everyone brave enough to strike up a conversation. A few even found the courage to ask her just what had brought on the unprecedented change, and Helga quickly made a new game out of generating fresh answers.

"If I can be 'nice' for the next year, I'll inherit a million bucks from my long-lost great aunt Cecile."

"I got whacked in the head by a baseball. Do I seem different to you?"

"I'm a pod person, Sid. And you're next."

She laughed privately with Phoebe as the rumours swirled amidst the regular conversation, both girls knowing the true story to be far stranger than any lie even Helga could come up with; they suspected that Rhonda would be untangling the web of information for months in an attempt to find the truth. She even danced a little, relieved to find that her feet and hips remembered the movements; she was grateful to Suzie for the brief practice. Throughout all this, however, Arnold seemed to be keeping a strange distance. Strange because his eyes continued to find her wherever she went, filled with a curiosity even greater than when she had joined him for dinner. They greeted each other, of course, and Arnold joined in the laughter at her jokes when their paths crossed, but he seemed to be holding something back, constantly giving off a barely-concealed tension in her presence.

As the evening wore on, a few people beginning to depart and the party becoming far less lively, Helga found herself in an eerily-familiar situation. The remaining guests had gathered around the fireplace, drowsiness beginning to overtake them as they sipped from their warm glasses. Gerald and Phoebe gently swayed alone on the dance floor, peacefully lost in each other's arms. It must be the most bizarre form of déjà vu, Helga thought, to find yourself placed in a middle of a scene you have already lived through as a fly on the wall. Not that she found cause to complain; the fire was warm, and the company was happy. She was happy herself. The night had gone better than she could have hoped. Arnold had been right; the others may not have understood the catalyst for Helga's change, but many simply seemed to appreciate her efforts. There was work still to do, of course, but the foundation had been laid.

"How about twenty questions, guys? I've got a good one!"

Helga had been inspired by the moment. The group were surprised by her outburst, but eagerly encouraged her as the questions began.

"Is it a mineral?" Sheena's boyfriend made the start, as he had done before. Helga now knew his name to be Ryan. He had met Sheena at a rock festival. She knew all the guests by now, in fact, having made the effort to put names to the unfamiliar faces.

"Guess again."

"An animal, then?"

"Sure." Helga's grin turned sly.

"Does it live on a farm?" Patty offered

"Not that I know of."

"DOES IT LIVE IN A ZOO?" Curly screamed, eleven o'clock drawing near. His lapse earned him a look of warning from Rhonda, and he took a calming breath. "Sorry, my sweet…"

"You _could_ say that…" Helga kept her answer coy.

"Does it live in water?" Rhonda tried, while subtly checking her watch.

"Nah, but it's one heck of a swimmer when it wants to be." Helga's grin widened at the thought.

"Is it a frog? Or a toad? Ooh, is it poisonous?!" Sid burst out with three wild guesses before anyone could bring him under control.

"She said it _doesn't_ live underwater, stupid!" Harold yelled, his hand clamped over Sid's mouth.

"Three guesses and no hits, bad luck Sid" Helga cut over him. "Also, read up on amphibians Harold…"

"Is it intelligent?" Phoebe chimed in from the floor. Helga considered this for a while.

"…Arguably."

"Can you find it in a jungle?" Phoebe continued. Again, Helga thought for a few moments.

"Actually, it _does_ come from the jungle!"

"A parrot!" Arnold suddenly offered, causing Helga to chuckle; she could guess where that idea came from.

"Nice try, but no. And please don't try to make a parrot swim."

"Ha, ha." Arnold rolled his eyes. "Is it dangerous?" This idea made Helga snort with laughter.

"Maybe to itself! Nah, it wouldn't hurt a fly."

"So, it's a mostly harmless animal that comes from the jungle, but lives in a zoo." Lorenzo, as before, began to recap. "It can swim well when it wants to, and it's fairly intelligent. Do you ever find it in the city?"

"Almost always, actually." There were murmurs around the crowd – Helga suspected they were getting close.

"Maybe its some kind of exotic pet. Is it an animal lots of people find attractive?"

"Oh, well," Helga was flustered by Nadine's guess for her own reasons, though she suspected the girl's definition of an 'attractive' pet would be a far cry from her own regardless – Nadine was still known for her tarantula collection, "I'd say that's kind of subjective!"

Suddenly, Gerald burst out laughing while giving Phoebe a gentle twirl.

"Is it weirdly optimistic?"

"You wouldn't believe..." Helga struggled not to laugh too; Gerald had got it.

"Is it kinda bold?" He pressed on, his smile widening as he brought Phoebe into a dip. Giggles spread around the group as more people caught on.

"Always has been."

"Little bit addicted to plaid?" Gerald hammered in one final nail.

"By this point, I'd say incurably."

"Is it really dense?" Arnold suddenly interjected with a groan.

"You tell me, Football Head!" Helga finally gave in to her laughter, along with the rest of the room, as Arnold reclined in his chair, his arms folded and a good-natured smirk on his face.

"Good one Helga, but was the 'zoo' crack really necessary?" He quirked an eyebrow, earning a shrug in response.

"Did you _see_ Oskar tearing into that turkey? I call 'em like I see 'em."

"Wait, I got it! It's Arnold!" Harold burst out, almost certainly the last person in the room to grasp the joke. Helga simply pointed at him, her other index finger touching her nose. He beamed with pride while his girlfriend gave him a weary pat on the shoulder.

With the game over, the group once again split into separate conversations, a few couples mustering the energy to join Phoebe and Gerald on the floor. Helga, on the other hand, found her eyes locked with Arnold, who gestured with a nudge of his head in the direction of the door. She nodded her understanding, eager to get some explanation for his odd behaviour throughout the evening. Following him, she found herself not caring whether any of their friends saw them leave together, her curiosity outweighing any embarrassment, and they soon found themselves facing each other in the hallway.

"I-" Arnold began to speak, but stopped short as the sound of footsteps approached from the foyer. A partygoer returning from the bathroom, perhaps. Without a word, he took Helga's hand and guided them to another nearby door, pulling her through without resistance. They now stood in the mansion's vast kitchen, the countertops crafted from shining black granite, and a glistening range of stainless steel pots, pans and utensils hanging over a wide central island. Another door lay open, across the room, revealing a well-stocked pantry. Taking this in, Arnold gave a short laugh, shaking his head in what Helga recognised as disbelief. He turned to face her, his face lighting up with an idea.

"Would you do something for me, Helga?" She blinked in confusion.

"Yeah, I guess. If you tell me why you've been acting so weird all night. Is it about what happened this morning? Because I thought we cleared that up earlier, and I already explained that I was sorry, and…" Her rambling was cut off as Arnold extended a familiar hand.

"Will you… Dance with me?"

Helga's mouth went dry, and her brow furrowed. She had been wrong before; this was, by far, the strangest déjà vu she could have experienced.

"There's… no music in here."

"Doesn't matter."

Numbly taking the outstretched hand, Helga's heart jumped as Arnold gently pulled her to him. Placing his other hand lightly on her waist, he began to lead them in a slow, silent spin. The motion seemed to relax him.

"I wasn't trying to ignore you tonight." He looked into her eyes as he spoke, after a short while. "I just didn't know how to approach you in front of everybody. I'm sorry about that."

"Approach me about what? I thought we ironed out all this weirdness earlier." She spoke softly, her confusion persisting even as she became captured by the moment.

"I think you and I remember the end of our conversation a little differently…" Arnold continued with a slight blush. "But in any case, that was before I went to the hospital this afternoon. You know, I don't think you give Wolfgang enough credit." At that, Helga stumbled in shock, Arnold steadying her in his arms before continuing their dance.

"I don't know what you're talking about…" She made her usual attempt at denial, though she immediately sensed that it was futile.

"Really? I'm quoting him directly here; 'a blonde fireball with pink in her hair, driving a badass camo hummer'. Sound familiar? Of course he recognised you – who could forget Helga Pataki? He was pretty confused by the whole 'anonymous' routine. Then again, he doesn't know you like I do."

Helga flushed, no longer meting his eye; she silently cursed Wolfgang for foiling her plan.

"Helga, do you realise you gave more than twice everyone else did combined? We practically had to pry Wolfgang's sister off that doll house with a crowbar! Why didn't you tell me before?"

Once again, Helga tore her arms away, throwing them in the air with an infuriated growl.

"Why do _you_ have something against Christmas miracles, Football Head?! What, you couldn't just let me have this _one_ without going all detective on me?" She glared at him, waiting for a response, but he simply stared at her, studying her closely with a look of amazement.

"It really _is_ you, isn't it? You really are back." When he finally spoke, his awed tone made Helga shiver, her annoyance draining away in an instant, leaving sheepish embarrassment in its wake.

"Y-yeah, it's me all right. Sweet Saint Pataki, doer of good deeds, friend to an extremely tolerant few, and now Christmas Angel to the poor little children…" Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.

"And to me."

"Huh..?" His words forced Helga's mind to a screeching halt. She stood frozen as Arnold once again took her hand in his. His other hand travelled to her neck, his fingers lightly caressing the pink ribbon wrapped around it.

"If you don't want this… please stop me." With that, he leaned forward, gently pulling her towards him as he did so. Helga saw his green eyes fall closed, her own quickly following suit as their lips finally met.

This was far different from their previous kiss, where Helga had thrown herself at him in desperation. This was soft, and chaste, and every second that it continued filled her with a growing sense of peace, as though a missing part of her was coming back into place. Her heart danced at the feeling, and her free hand absently travelled to lightly linger on his chest. They separated, reluctantly, a few moments later, Arnold resting his forehead against her own.

"I've… still got a lot of work to do." Helga hesitantly spoke first, hating to break the moment.

"I know."

"And I didn't do any of this just to try and 'win you back', or anything." She continued honestly, biting her lip.

"I know that too."

For a while, both were silent, neither seeming to know what to say. But eventually, Arnold pulled back to look her in the eye, green meeting blue as he took her hands in his once again. His familiar smile was back in place.

"Would you like to catch a movie with me sometime?" Helga processed this for a moment, before her own grin crept across her lips.

"Only if you're paying. Nothing on the cheap, ya know?"

"Whatever you say, Angel." Arnold smile widened and his eyes grew half-lidded, as he began to lean forward once again.

At that moment, however, the kitchen door exploded open, the colossal bang causing Helga to leap into Arnold's arms with a shriek. A panicked, terrified Sid burst into the room at breakneck speed, quickly losing his balance on the tiled floor. With a high shriek of his own, the boy was sent skidding head-first into the pantry, Arnold and Helga watching in mute horror as he impacted, sending forth a thick cloud of white powder. As the flour settled, thoroughly coating the now groaning Sid, a livid Rhonda stalked into the room in his wake. She halted at the sight, looking down on the boy with unsympathetic eyes.

"Well that serves you _right_! Of all the sneaky, underhanded…" Her voice trailed away as she spotted the couple, Arnold still holding Helga tightly. The two quickly separated, stepping away from each other with feigned, blushing innocence, but the damage had been done. Rhonda had the face of a fox in a henhouse. They could practically hear the gears of gossip turning in her mind; this would keep them fuelled for months. Without a word she darted towards them, grasping them both in an unexpected group hug.

"This is the best Christmas _ever_!" At that, she released them both and wheeled around. She left the room at a pace, dragging a semi-conscious and extremely white Sid by the scruff of his neck, muttering something to him along the lines of 'backup witness'. Helga and Arnold were left alone to share a worried look, and to wonder exactly how much damage control was in their immediate future.

The future, in fact, both immediate and distant, became brighter from that moment on. Helga stayed true to her word, embracing each day with hope and gratitude. Some laughed, of course, at her change (when they were quite convinced she was nowhere nearby), but Helga let them. She laughed herself at her transformation, and a great many other things besides. There were also those that taunted or whispered, her softer front stoking their cruelty. Those people quickly learned never to mistake her vulnerabilities for weakness, retribution coming swiftly from the girl in question, or from her friends if she was busy. Helga would always be Helga, after all. And as for Christmases yet to come, those would be altered too. There would still be a service, presided over by a minister and attended by much of the same crowd, and Arnold would still be the centre of attention (albeit attention gladly shared). This time, however, Helga would be there. On that day, her thoughts would travel to the past and to the future, to her mother and to spirits. She would look at the man poised to become her husband, and at her youngest bridesmaid, the girl's pixie face beaming behind waves of straw-blonde hair.

And Helga G. Pataki would smile.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

The End

* * *

 **A/N Thanks to everyone who read and enjoyed this story, and thanks especially to everyone who followed and / or favourited. As for the people who left reviews, thanks most of all to you - your feedback made this more rewarding than I ever imagined.**

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